


All That Glitters

by veridium_bye



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Orlais
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-02 11:43:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16304567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veridium_bye/pseuds/veridium_bye
Summary: Olivia is tasked with a special mission to the Capitol on behalf of the Inquisition: one of intrigue, seduction, and danger. Cassandra must trust her to be able to handle it on her own, but her growing protectiveness and love for her overwhelm her. She risks her life to ensure Olivia's safety against enemies, and time would tell if the risk is rewarded or punished.





	1. Machinations

The war table was broad and glowing from the early evening sunlight reaching through the tall, overbearing stain-glass windows. Surrounding it were the pillar figures of five women, standing with about an equal amount of distance between them all. They were staring down at the center of their shape, the same broad table that seemed to deliver all of Thedas on a platter for them to play with.

“What do we have to lose if we fail?” The Inquisitor, Theia, asked. Her arms were folded with her thumb and index finger resting under her chin. Her gaze was turned to Josephine, her Ambassador and lover, for the answer.

“He has syphoned off a considerable portion of our investments into his dealings. If that is found out by the wrong person, it makes us seem complicit when we are to be combatting Venatori and their alliances.” Josephine held her quill to the paper on her clipboard, chest and shoulders broad.

From the far end of the table, Leliana paced a few steps from side to side, arms gathered behind her waist. Her discerning glare framed by her hood. “This should easily be remedied by one of my men. I doubt we need dirty our hands more than that.”

“As assassination merely draws attention to the mystery of the circumstance; if he dies by foul play, people wonder why and that is not something we should strive for,” the Ambassador replied.

“Hm,” Leliana sighed, “so we are to play along.”

“No, we are to reclaim the turn we had in the game which was falsely stolen from us,” Josephine turned her head towards the two women standing on the other end of the table. “This means we need considerable where-with-all and precision.”

Vivienne leaned onto one hip, her hand resting on her sides. The metallic shine in her garb adding a flare of unnatural allure to her aura. She tilted her chin to the side, her face smug even in the face of uncertainty.

“Lord Vincent is hardly difficult to pin down. We merely have a few inconveniences to navigate, surely.”

“Yes – a few, but every single one proving fatal to our goal,” Leliana retorted.

“Which is why one decent blow should be delivered, and quickly, before the multiple sets of teeth descend, don’t you think?” Vivienne turned her shoulders now, so she could look directly towards the woman who stood beside her.

All eyes followed her change in focus, and honed on Olivia’s quiet, pensive face as she stared at the table. There was a moment of suspenseful silence, before she looked up and parted her lips.

“I am going to get to him,” Olivia confirmed.

Theia took a breath, rolling her shoulders back as the discomfort of the situation grew. “Olivia, are you sure your connection to him is strong enough to be sufficient?”

Olivia’s jaw clenched a bit, and she took a couple steps towards the edge of the table. Her arms folded, mirroring her friend’s stoic posture. “His mistress despises me because I am the one woman he felt distracted enough in pursuing to leave her side for an entire hour during one of the most important Soirees of the season at the time. He will not have forgotten me,” she responded.

“Neither will his mistress have,” Leliana grinned, her green eyes making direct contact with Olivia’s calculating gaze. “Her name is quite theatrical, if I remember?” she turned towards Josephine.

“Indeed,” the Ambassador nodded, “Lady Minerva Lucina, and she hardly ever allows her company to say anything less than her full name,” her eyes narrowed a bit.

“She did for me, once, as she held a two-pronged dagger to my spleen,” Olivia sighed. “This will have to be a quick dealing. “Lady M” hardly lets her gentleman be distracted by anything attractive for more than an hour at a time.”

Vivienne chuckled a deep, rich tone under her breath. “I recall her. Vitriolic woman. Olivia is quite correct, if we linger enough to let us bleed into the water, the sea monsters will consume us whole.”

Theia groaned. “Of course. So how do we do that without killing him, or resorting to violence?”

Josephine set down her clipboard then, a show of true commitment to the present conversation. She then reached to a nearby stack of folded letters, consisting of proper parchment and sealed with the wax of noble emblems. They looked formal and a bit embellished for Inquisition reports or notes – these were sent from outside affiliates, if anything. A grin on the side of her mouth, she tossed one in the direction of Vivienne, Olivia, and Theia at last.

“Invitations to Lord and Lady Abernathy’s Hall in Val Royeaux for their Ball in two weeks’ time. He will be there, as will his mistress; in fact, most of the Capitol will be in attendance, along with well-connected names from nearby provinces. This is precisely the environment we need to secure what has been taken from us.”

Theia took the letter and opened it, revealing to her eyes the elegant script of the formal welcome. The Herald of Andraste got a special reference in her own invitation, with a note on the bottom of affection from Lady Abernathy. Theia smirked in ambivalence.

“Josephine, you know I trust your vision, but how exactly does a Ball give us the perfect scenario for us to reclaim extorted Inquisition funds from the dealings of a double-agent Chevalier with ties to the black market?”

“Because, my Love, the Abernathys host gambling like no other Orleisian house does. The entire Hall will be filled from wall to wall with card tables, instead of open floor for dancing. This tradition has existed for ages. Everyone worth their notoriety will be bringing enough coin to outfit a small army,” Josephine smiled in return.

Leliana chuckled lightly. “Josie, you are brilliant. I should have known this would be our way to resolve this.”

“I have my talents – but this leaves us with the question of just what our approach will be. Which is why I have invited Vivienne and Olivia here.”

Everyone could feel the nervousness in the room that came with the pleasant banter. Olivia had been removed from Court and the good side of Orleisian nobility for a couple of months now, and her premium had certainly waned along with time. Though, the nature of her rise to prominence was just as anomalous as her decline, and with that came mystique: people who became enamored with her, did so because of her exquisite liminality. She was alluring and anomalous, and she had used it to her advantage even as she was employed by Lady Adalia and housed in the Ferndale Estate for the better part of a year. During that she had garnered many admirers, some more fleeting, but others seemed eager to sink their teeth in further.

Lord Vincent had been one of those hungry mouths, and if it weren’t for his overbearing and formidable Mistress, he may have been successful. For as ill-advised as his taste in women was, he inheritance and accrued merchant wealth were just as grotesquely prevalent; Olivia would have hardly seen a reason to deny him.

Things had changed much since then, however, and with the passage of time, Olivia had become less flippant in her patience for such men and their games.

“Vivienne is much more visible than I – her sudden attention will provoke curiosity. It must be me. I am the old flame, the long-lost conquest,” she answered the looming question in the air, the question that was the reason for her presence in the room. The Inquisition was nothing if not collaborative with the interdisciplinary talents of its agents.

“Olivia are you certain?” Theia asked again, protective as a friend and as a leader.

“Yes. I remember well enough to know what would get to him. If you and Vivienne can keep Minerva Lucina off my trail long enough for him to cave in, I can have a coin purse the size of the Amaranthine tucked behind my back in a few hours’ time.”

“That is quite the promise to make, Olivia. Although I appreciate the confidence, I must wonder along with the Inquisitor if you are prepared for such task. We are asking a lot of you, no?” Leliana stood still as she pushed the inquiry further.

Vivienne sighed, interjecting with her own perspective. “If Olivia has known the man, and he has expressed a taste for her, what should she need to do but remind him of how tempting the chase was and give him what he was robbed of? A robbery for a robbery, that is simply economics.”

The women all exchanged glances with each other in various directions, the conclusion seeming to become more solidified and inescapable by the second. Logic was a difficult thing to defeat when it ruled over such dealings. If it was to be a nonviolent endeavor, they would have to utilize potent tactics, and for men such as Lord Vincent, the arsenal was limited to booze, women, and fast times. The Soiree provided a chance to hit him with all three ingredients. It was their best shot.

“Fine,” Theia looked at Olivia, “if this is what you wish, we can move forward with it.”

Olivia eyed her in return, giving her a knowing look of “this is what I do, and I can do it well” in her face and eyes.

“Very good,” Leliana interrupted their intuitive communication, “I will have intel very soon which will help us further plan. Until then, that seems to be all.” She nodded to Vivienne, who grinned with indifferent relief in return.

Madame de Fer then turned and took hold of Olivia’s hand, having grown quite fond of the pretty young Mage with a head on her shoulders. She wouldn’t admit it, but Olivia reminded her of herself in many ways, and had grown a fondness for her that was as much regretful tenderness for who she used to be, and Olivia’s own safety.

“Little Black Dove,” she said, invoking Olivia’s alias, “you will do well, as always.” She gently squeezed her hand before letting go and seeing herself out of the council room, never one for fuss.

Theia watched Vivienne withdraw before she approached Olivia, proving to be a much more intimately concerned friend. At her encroachment, Olivia shifted her weight onto one hip. On the other side of the table, Leliana and Josephine coupled off to talk amongst themselves, providing the two Mage women enough seclusion to be frank with one another.

“So, one more time, I am to be your cover whilst you charm the inheritance off of an unjustly enriched man,” Theia smirked, the anxiety lacing her attempt at good humor.

Olivia’s brow raised, and she managed a smile, not wanting to aggravate Theia’s nerves any more than they had been. She gently placed her hand on Theia’s shoulder. “Theia-bird, I am afraid your current occupation absolves you from direct involvement.”

“But, of course I am to come to protect you, otherwise what am I there to do?”

“Be the Herald of Andraste, remember? Your presence provides me ample cover. You must capitalize on it, for my sake, and remain separated from my side.”

“Olivia,” Theia’s chest tightened, “who will be your back up if things turn sour, then? You are capable, I know, but you are just one person. A Chevalier of noble birth has arms, eyes, and ears along every wall.”

Olivia’s arm retreated, and she thoughtfully flattened out the skirt of her simple linen work dress. She lowered her chin, keeping her gaze away from Theia as she put together her thoughts.

“Well, I suppose you will have Cassandra, then,” the Inquisitor blinked and nodded once, presuming such a thing was Olivia’s plan all along.

“No, Theia,” she quickly replied, a deliberation in her tone, “Cassandra will not be my body guard. I can handle myself. With you, Vivienne, and Josephine there, I will have enough connections should things go wrong. I cannot employ Cassandra as my leash-handler. You and her hardly need to concern yourself with such things when you go off to fight who-knows-what for whatever reason.”

Theia’s heart sank, hearing Olivia’s stern shift in her attitude. Clearly, she had hit a bit of a nerve, and it reminded her. Olivia was always a bit insecure and affronted with the assumption that she needed protection, as if she couldn’t handle herself, or needed a reinforcing power. She had grown into her own confidence since moving to Skyhold, and it was showing. Though, Theia worried that her insecurity had simply grown along with it, rather than being resolved.

“I understand, Olivia. Since you are at the center of this mission, you have the authority to dictate as much. As for Cassandra, I worry for your assumption that she will simply let you go, knowing the intention of your involvement.”

“Let me handle that, Theia,” Olivia softened her posture, “she of all people understands what it is to be obligated in offering your abilities for the greater good.”

“Yes,” Theia tilted her head a bit, “but she also isn’t known for her talent in sharing.”

Olivia’s eyes narrowed. She shook her head, patting Theia on the upper arm lightly before seeing herself out. Her last act was a polite nod to both Josephine and Leliana from across the room, before she at last made her way through the big heavy door and back out into the world.


	2. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tasked with a time-sensitive mission, Olivia tells Cassandra of her plans. A point of tension arises between them, especially when it comes to Cassandra's need to protect Olivia, even from her own choices. Cassandra makes a contentious decision.

The remaining couple hours in the day wore on as Olivia busied herself, multitasking in both finishing up the day’s tasks and trying to formulate a tactful way to inform Cassandra of her upcoming mission. Theia’s ominous observation had remained branded in her mind, not because it surprised her, but because she knew she was right. Olivia hadn’t yet been in a situation where she would have to worry about Cassandra’s jealousy or possessiveness, and she hardly thought she ever would after beginning her new life at Skyhold. Clearly, old occupations died as hard as habits did.

When at last she released herself from her day in the tower, she wandered down to the grounds where she found Cassandra, standing by the straw sparring dummies, sheathing a new practice sword she must have gotten from the Smith’s shop. The sun had been down for a while, and the remaining orange on the horizon line was quickly dissolving to black. It left little light for them to enjoy in the open air.

Olivia approached, bare feet and blanket shawl around her shoulders, her trademark after hours look.

“New toys to play with, I see,” she greeted whilst still being a few yards away.

Hearing the voice that was like ring velvet to the ears for her, Cassandra grinned, eyes still on the new sword as she inspected the quality. “Yes, you know me, I am endlessly playful.”

Olivia finally reached her lover’s side and she wasted no time, slipping her arm around Cassandra’s and hooking herself around its strong feel. She smiled and rested her chin on the edge of Cassandra’s shoulder, her eyes gazing down at the sword as well. The familiar contrast of light armor texture to the flimsiness of her blanket and day dress the texture of their love.

“You seem pretty amenable to such things when it comes to me,” she cooed, standing on her toes a bit with her habitual dancer’s feet.

Cassandra smirked. “You make playfulness more interesting than most interpretations I have seen.”

“What flattery. Perhaps you have a fever? Are you sure you are feeling well?” Olivia bit her lip and put her hand to Cassandra’s forehead, as if to assess her temperature.

Cassandra scoffed, not remaining still for such an evaluation. She gently stepped away from Olivia, in order to place the practice sword back on the rack of weapons and tools for the sparring ring. “Will you be going to supper in the Hall or retiring now that you are done with the day’s work?” she returned the conversation to more practical matters.

Olivia folded her arms, tucking in the shall tightly around her shoulders. “No, I was thinking of merely making some pot of soup down in the kitchen and having dinner in bed, again,” she tilted her head to the side. “You feel like eating something like that, or should I steal you something different while I am there?”

Cassandra turned and faced her, now, arms at her sides as she took a few steps closer to her. Even if she was being a tease, Olivia was hard to stay away from for long.

“If they have some of the salted beef and bread, I would not decline it,” she admitted, a crooked grin on her lips. “And a few spoonfuls of your soup, if you would be so merciful.”

“I would, on one condition,” Olivia took a step forward, closing the rest of the distance between them.

“Name it, then.”

“The world and my soup could be yours, Seeker Pentaghast, if you would give me your blessing for my upcoming mission to the Capitol.”

Cassandra paused, slightly surprised by the specificity and ambition of Olivia’s request. She had expected something more trivial and endearing, like being the one to blow out all the candles at night before bed or letting her bathe in the bathtub with hot water first. She should have known that in the Inquisition, such things were not out of the ordinary.

“I…see. I did not think I would have to give my blessing for your own obligations. You are your own person, after all.” She folded her arms and gazed down at her, eager to understand.

“Well, yes, that is true,” Olivia nodded, avoiding direct eye contact. “However, given the nature of my…task, I feel it only right that I do converse with you about it and receive your blessing.”

“The nature of your task? Olivia,” Cassandra’s eyes narrowed, “what have they gotten you into this time?”

Olivia bit her lip, her chest tensing as she knew the moment was upon her. She hadn’t the heart to dance around issues with Cassandra, someone she knew appreciated candor above everything. They had nourished a dynamic where she trusted that she could be honest without risking everything all at once, but still, when it came to topics such as these it was nerve-wracking.

“There is a Chevalier extorting Inquisition funds for his operations with Venatori clientele. He is someone whom I have…encountered, before, during my life in Montsimmard. The nature of that time has made me the prime person to...well, convince him, to part ways with money in recompense for his dishonesty.”

“So, you were friends before?”

“In an…Orleisian way…yes.”

“Ugh!” Cassandra rolled her eyes, tilted her head back and stepped away from Olivia, who had remained still whilst she tried to break the news as gently as possible. “Olivia!” she groaned, “is the Inquisitor really condoning you utilizing your former skills to the service of our accounts?”

Olivia grimaced, shoulders tensed as she delayed her response. Her expression was all Cassandra needed. Aggravated, Cassandra paced back and forth, her hands rigidly anchored on her hips. “Unbelievable,” she muttered.

“Cassandra, please, do not go soaring out of the Fortress and into the night. I am merely practicing a former trade for one night more, for the sake of the Inquisition, and the Ambassador. It is what I am good at, and it is something I can do to help.”

“Practicing for one night more? So, you will have to bed him and tie him to his headboard, then? Is that the brilliant plan you have concocted for smoothing over dealings with the corrupted Nobility?” Cassandra’s tone was hushed but pointed, given that they were in the open air of the courtyard and not in the seclusion of her quarters.

“Not necessarily. I just have to get on his good sides and exploit it enough for him to part with the money. We will be colliding with him at a gambler’s soiree in the Capitol. Everyone will be attending with their fortunes at the ready. All I need do is convince him—”

“Convince him by virtue of his taste in women. Olivia, I thought this was…” the Seeker took a breath, not wanting to completely lose control of her passion or her emotions. For being trained in disciplined expression and communication, she found that for some reason this situation was proving difficult to apply such teachings.

“You thought what?” Olivia pushed, perhaps a bit unwisely given the internal struggle Cassandra was facing.

“I thought that this was in the past. I did not think it would be something you would…collaborate with, here. You have a heavy involvement as it is.”

“I did not expect it, either. But, Theia would not condone asking this of me if she did not trust me to do the job, and isn’t that why we are all here? To do what we must?”

Cassandra shifted her weight from one side to the other as she came to a stop, standing a yard away from Olivia, who remained still and holding onto her shawl as a most steadfast point of focus. She wasn’t wrong – and Cassandra knew this. Though, it made it all the more frustrating to her.

“I suppose so,” she sighed roughly, conceding to the virtue in Olivia’s premise. “I was not planning on another excursion to the Capitol, but I will do so for this, to be sure.” She resigned herself to the solace that she would at least be there to protect and oversee the situation, even if she could not stop it or control it. She would go along, but not elated in the process.

“Cassandra,” Olivia took a breath, “you will not be going with us.”

The bombshell of her answer crumbled all of Cassandra’s stoicism that she had managed to makeshift in the minute or two prior to dust. She shook her head quickly, her hands falling to her sides.

“What? Under who’s orders? Is this some cruel joke by the Inquisitor, trying to provoke me into being a jealous lover for all of Skyhold to see? Has Leliana gotten bored up in her Raven’s nest and took it upon herself to spurn me?”

Olivia’s eyes shifted to the side, her lips falling to a frown. “They were mine, Cassandra. They were mine.”

A pause, then, where Cassandra’s wild, flying accusations were silenced. She stared Olivia down, even as she refused eye contact with her; now, she knew why she was avoiding the direct and scalding look of her hazel eyes with her own.

“You would undertake this and leave me here to do what, then?”

“Be you, of course. You have a great many duties to attend to, being my body guard should not be one of them, especially when I do not need one. Theia, Josephine, and Vivienne will be with me, I will be adequately watched out for.”

“This is preposterous. Why do you choose now to exclude me from a mission with you? Is it because of the kind of task you must carry out? Do you not trust me?”

“Cassandra, don’t be silly. I trust you like no one else. The simple fact is that you are more needed here than at my side. You detest Orleisian politics and fanfare, why put yourself in the thick of it just to unnerve the very kind of man I will be needing to get close to?”

“So you think, then, that I cannot handle myself in such situations? As if I have not had to do it so many times before this?”

“No, that is not at all what—”

“Then what is the truth? Because I feel as though you are negating the reality of your decision.”

“It is just the most sensible route, and it is about—”

“Sensible? What on Earth could be—”

“Cassandra Pentaghast!”

Olivia’s reprimanding of her lover’s interrupting temper lead to a temporary ceasefire, wherein both women now glared across the distance between them with full, matched intensity. If it was one thing Olivia could not stand even when she was dodging culpability in a situation, it was being walked all over by someone whom she respected.

Realizing that she was acting out of turn, Cassandra took a breath, and closed her mouth. Seeing her physically concede, Olivia leaned forward a bit as she continued talking.

“This is precisely why I think it best for me to go without you. You are protective of me and you will hate seeing me do what I must do. I will have to be sleazy, and loose, and theatrical. I will have to dawn my Orleisian mask again, and it is so entirely different from who I truly am. You will hate every minute of it, and your temper and passion could jeopardize the process. You talk a good talk, my love, but I do not believe for one moment that you seeing me that way will not send you into a jealous, bitter fit in some way, shape, or form.”

The honesty was out the play, now, and Cassandra couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or more upset. She had never been called out for such intemperate qualities before, at least not by a lover whom she trusted to appreciate that side of her. It bruised her ego for professionalism.

“So, I am reduced to a bitter and possessive woman, and not a capable fighter or Inquisition agent.”

“No, Cassandra, you are being recognized for being what you are, which is human. I am not trying to punish you. I just don’t want to fail, and without you there I can commit myself to the mission without worrying that you think I’m betraying you.”

“So now I am to worry about you betraying me?” Cassandra shook her head. “Your philosophy about this mission has a most strange combination of determination and guilt, Olivia. I do not know whether to think you proud or ashamed of it, the way you are sequestering yourself within it.”

“I am not guilty for offering my talents to a cause I believe in and a friend I value. I thought you would understand, but as it turns out I was misguided.”

Olivia pulled the shawl up a bit, as it had begun to fall down around her shoulders over the course of the conversation. She then turned to stand facing off to the side, disconnecting both mentally and physically from Cassandra’s presence. So, this would be a mess, indeed. It wasn’t going to stop her from pursuing this; once Olivia was set on something, she rarely hesitated. Such luxuries were not afford for women like her.

Seeing her withdraw a bit, Cassandra’s stomach turned. Sighing under her breath, she loosened up her argumentative stance.

“Does this mean I am to receive the silent treatment?” she provoked, testing the waters. Olivia had never done such a thing before, except in one or two instances -- one being when she had to leave for the Ferndale Estate, which felt like a lifetime ago. Now, they had a much more communicative relationship, but Cassandra wasn’t willing to assume luck.

Olivia huffed. “Depends, I suppose. If you treat me like a naive young woman on the borderline of childhood, perhaps I should start acting like one.”

Cassandra folded her arms, grinning on the corner of her mouth. “Olivia.”

“No, no, I am quite flexible. What could possibly be harmful about a 25-year-old woman acting like a fool in conflict. I am sure I will be just as capable of keeping myself alive in dangerous situations. Trauma? Near-death experiences? Living life on my own? Pfft, nothing compares to the frivolty of youthful intemperance.”

“You sound like you have been spending too much time in the company of the Inquisitor, the way you are going on with a bruised vanity.”

“Perhaps she is secretly the true Orleisian, then, and I am but a fraud.”

Cassandra shook her head, and stepped closer to her. Reaching a hand, she caressed her outward-facing cheek, gently guiding Olivia’s gaze to return to her woman and not be stuck off in space. Olivia obliged, her hazel-golden irises simmering a bit with unnatural glowing, telling just how much this issue bothered her even as she played. Seeing her true feelings show, Cassandra’s stubbornness softened, at least in the moment.

“Olivia, you are right. I may be acting on my emotions, but you should know that such a thing, at least when it comes to my sensibilities...it is a rare thing, and I do not give into it easily. I only hope that you remember that when you grow frustrated with me.”

Olivia linked her eyes with her woman’s, and in them she saw the sincerity brewing in their warm darkness. She couldn’t avoid it, nor could she pretend that the commitments of such an emotional entanglement didn’t change things for her. It changed everything, the way she saw herself, the world, and her role within it. Yet, they had been ironically spoiled in being able to seclude their bond from the outside world, even as the residue of her past continually proved hard to wash away permanently.

With all this in mind, she managed to grin, disarming both herself and the tension in the air between them. Cassandra’s chest exhaled the air it had been holding.

“Does that mean you will agree to go along with this, even if you do not like it?” she asked in return.

“On one condition.”

“I thought this all started because I had the condition? Is our relationship nothing but an endless power-play?” Olivia smirked.

Cassandra chuckled, and it made Olivia remember that it felt like forever since the last time she had heard her do so. In all reality, it had been a matter of hours, but the stress of her situation made all happy things feel farther away than they were.

“Perhaps. I still have it, nonetheless.”

“Very well. As you said earlier, name it.”

Cassandra’s face stilled a bit, and her bittersweet grin fell. She leaned in closer to her, hand still holding the side of her face, whilst the other went to rest on Olivia’s shawl-covered shoulder.

“If at any point, your life becomes endangered beyond expectation, you do not hesitate to kill him.”

Olivia’s eyes widened and her lips parted, remembering the requirements the Ambassador enforced on the mission of no violence or murder. Still, she couldn’t say Cassandra’s request didn’t make logical sense -- surely, her life would be of more value than his if it were to come down to it. Theia wouldn’t blame her, in fact, she would sooner be the one to take life first. But, the weight of such a promise in the face of diplomatic obligations weighed on her. It meant that, should anything happen to her, she would be breaking a promise to one of the most important people in her life.

She swallowed, taking it all in.

“Olivia,” she heard Cassandra call her back from the depths of her thoughts, and her eyes re-focused on the Seeker’s narrow, discerning face. “Do I have your word?”

Olivia put a hand on Cassandra’s chest, biting her lip. She then gave a solemn nod.

Affirmed, Cassandra grinned again. If she could not be there to protect her herself, she would at least be comforted in knowing that Olivia had the ability to take matters into her own hands. If needed, Cassandra would use her position in the Inquisition hierarchy to sponsor such a decision, especially if Olivia was bound to nonviolent tactics. There were certain covert perks to be her lover, and these were the most benign in nature in comparison to what others were capable of.

Willing to let it go, Cassandra closed her eyes and pressed her lips to Olivia’s forehead, seeming to resolve the issue with finality. Olivia was happy to be embraced after such a contentious discussion, and to have Cassandra’s agreement to sit this mission out was a lofty ambition. But, she trusted her, and that trust could prevail in the face of anything, she thought.

As Cassandra kissed her skin, she let her face become illuminated with lighthearted devotion again. “Thank you, my Love.”

\--

A few days later, Leliana had gathered enough baseline recon to allow the women to depart for Val Royeaux. Preemptive intelligence was invaluable, but learning on the ground had its own merit. The Inquisition carriages were loaded and ready for departure in the early morning fog, with Josephine, Vivienne, Theia, and Olivia preparing to be their occupants. The Inquisitor almost always traveled by mount, but something in the way she decided to travel quite literally with Josephine at her side alluded to a craving for private, prolonged time together.

Cassandra was envious, in her own way, as she stood with her hands gathered behind her waist. Olivia had lagged behind a bit in getting herself ready, and had told her to go ahead and alert the others that she was on her way. She resented any distance between them innately, especially when they were preparing to be separated physically. Though, she was trying her best to be accomodating to Olivia’s determination.

Eventually, though, the woman of the hour did show. Walking down the last set of stone stairs down to the lower grounds, there was no quintessential traveling gown in sight. Instead, Olivia had donned a light traveling armor, a thick hide vest with a hood lined in dark gray fur, metal encasing her chest and shoulders in a close, flexible contour of her shape. Dagna had done right by her, in exchange for their friendship in arcane and apothecary studies.

Cassandra tried hard not to always be besotted by the sight of Olivia in armor, but with the rarity of such sights, it was difficult to not be. She remained still, standing and awaiting her approach as their eyes locked. Olivia was tightening her gloves, multitasking with her attention.

“My apologies, I had to ensure some of my more delicate belongings would be safely transferred. Nothing ruins traveling like unexpected explosions,” she smirked, arriving at her woman’s side and standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her.

Seeing her show up, Theia smiled and waved to her, standing a ways away beside Josephine who was just about to mount into the carriage they would share. The Inquisitor was dressed similarly to Olivia, ready for anything the road my present to them as obstacles.

Olivia smiled and waved in return, before she shifted her shoulders back to Cassandra. “How are you feeling?”

Cassandra blinked, her hands oscillating between fist and open palm behind her back. “Oh, I am simply elated.”

“You look it,” Olivia smirked.

“Of course. I am the person who maintains the joy in every circumstance,” Cassandra coping mechanism of sobering sarcasm was hitting its mark.

“I see. Well, if it means anything, you sure do inject euphoria into my life.”

Olivia’s unexpected potency of affection off-set Cassandra’s iron-clad stoicism. She turned to face her head on, then, a soft grin showing on her lips. Her eyes, though, were the window into her broken facade as they softened. She looked at Olivia, the way she appeared and the way her face seemed: the poised beauty combined with her precocious mind. How her hair, gathered and braided up into a bun, was like a dirty blonde halo around her head. The way she looked back at her with a sweet confidence, no mask or artifice to be seen. She had grown so used to the abundance of this sight, and even though Cassandra had had to leave her behind for her own voyages, it was proving different in its difficulty in watching her go.

Olivia was a weakness as much as she was a strength for her. Such is the dual-bladed nature of love between mortal spirits and hearts.

Acting upon her broken-down shell of confidence, Cassandra reached and curved her hand around the side of Olivia’s neck, a grip of caring conviction. Olivia watched her like a hawk as she did, but remained still.

“Remember what I said, please. No matter what is at stake, or what you are expected to do. Do not hesitate,” her coded language alluding to the promise they had made days prior -- the promise Olivia made begrudgingly.

Olivia tilted her head ever-so-slightly. She grazed the tips of her fingers along Cassandra’s cheek, across the scars and the porcelain complexion of her skin. She then reached down into the collar of Cassandra’s armored ensemble, fingers lightly digging for what she knew to be tucked between her underlayer and her skin. Her fingers hooked onto the silver chain of her necklace -- the same necklace that once belonged to her father, the one she gave to Cassandra back when she thought she was leaving her for good. The necklace she never took back, and instead left it in her care, trusting her with both its safety and that of her heart. She pulled it out of its hiding place and held it over her flattened hand, looking down at the shining patroness pendant.

Seeing it, and seeing it on the neck of her woman, Olivia smiled softly.

“You think I would do anything less than live forever if you so wished me too, Cassandra? My lungs will breathe life into me come hell or high water, so long as I have you to come back to.”

Cassandra watched her the entire time, and when she assured her, it made her torn heart feel even more attached. She leaned in and kissed her at once, her other free hand on the side of her waist. Olivia kissed her back reverently, her hand clutching softly onto the necklace pendant as they embraced. They remained suspended in this moment for what felt like a robbed eternity, until from a distance Olivia heard her friend.

“Olivia, we must be off!” Theia sweetly warned, before stepping into the carriage behind Josephine.

Olivia pulled away, though not of her own desire. Sighing and creating a plume of frosted air between them with her exhalation, she turned her attention to Vivienne who stood beside the carriage they were meant to share. She stared at her with an intelligent patience, arms folded. Vivienne had learned that verbally scolding Olivia when she was saying her farewells to the Seeker was a futile endeavor.

“I must go,” Olivia breathed, releasing her hands from Cassandra’s body.

“Maker be with you,” Cassandra let her hand linger on Olivia’s face a moment more, before she too withdrew from their hold. Her hands returned to behind held behind her back at attention, like they had been when Olivia showed up.

Olivia offered one more bittersweet smile to Cassandra. “Take care, my love. I will write.”

“Please do. Be safe,” Cassandra nodded.

Resolved that the goodbye had outstayed its welcome, Olivia turned and made her way to the carriage, nodding with apologies to Vivienne before promptly boarding their ride. Vivienne eyed Cassandra with a cunning kind of compassion, as if she would say she both understood and pitied her. Then, Madame de Fer followed suit, and the carriage door was shut.

Cassandra stood by and watched as both carriages departed, following in line down through the main gate and disappearing from view. Her heart seemed to lull itself into silence, and she would be unsure whether it not it still beat at all if she kept track.

The air went still as the carriages were far and away gone. That left her and the remaining bodies of scouts and personnel who had outfitted the traveling group, who were disbursing rapidly whilst she remained standing.

Before long, the Commander himself approached her, standing at her side in solemn attention.

“Seeker,” he greeted, “I take it you saw the Inquisitor and the allies departure.” He was benign in his approach, but he knew why she was so solemn. He couldn’t fully understand, but he sympathized, and sometimes that was what was needed.

“I did,” she replied simply, turning her chin towards him. “Everything was handled.”

“Good. I assume it will be a quick and clean mission,” he replied.

“Yes, I predict it as well.”

A pause, wherein Cassandra swallowed and adjusted her posture, tightening and stiffening with nothing left around her to beckon her to be soft.

“Commander, I have a request,” she said after a moment.

“Yes, name it, friend,” he turned and eyed her, a brow furrowing with curiosity.

“Have a horse set aside for me in the stables so that I may depart in two day’s time. I will resolve all outstanding reports and filings so that everything will be run smoothly in my absence.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “Where have you been stationed? I remember no report--”

“I am following the mission to the Capitol as reinforcement. Leliana and I discussed it this morning, though I doubt a report was made yet.”

“Oh. I see,” his chin lowered with a knowing gaze. “Are you...certain, that Leliana has made her most well-informed judgement on the proposition?”

“Yes,” Cassandra followed the innuendo in their words, “she has, and nothing will change her mind.”

Cullen sighed, and rested his hands on the pommel of his sword. “Alright then, I will send a note to Master Dennett to set aside a horse. Be sure to take care, Seeker. Such quick additions to plans can sometimes prove...tense.”

“I am aware, Commander. Tension is anything but unfamiliar to me. Thank you, that will be all.”

Nodding his way, she turned and head back up the stairs. She had a lot to prepare, after all.


	3. Temptress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, the night of the Gambler's Ball is upon Olivia and the group. The need for expediency and precision make the beginning of the evening the most important part. Olivia struggles with the changes in her temperament which make her Courtesan persona harder to perform, but her tactics bear fruit.

Olivia couldn’t remember the last time she was ornamentally dressed and posh for a Soiree in Val Royeax off the top of her head anymore; such memories had become like daydreams of a former life, fleeting and sore to experience. Though, as she stood for her corset tightening in a guest suite of the Abernathy estate, she found the mannerisms and decorum of an Orleisian courtesan to be like riding a horse after a long while: the muscle memory and vernacular adaptation as quickly picked up as it had been put down.

“I suppose you remember the names and the links between them all,” Theia paced on the other side of the room, already dressed in her formal military coat and slacks. In one hand, she held parchment with the list and lines connecting all of the details she needed to rehearse, and Olivia was a most helpful partner for doing so whilst Josephine found herself busy tactfully schmoozing the Abernathy’s.

Olivia giggled as she huffed out some more air from her corset’s constriction. “Yes, Theia-bird. I needn’t the extra studying.”

“I just wanted to make sure, since these names all seem to bleed into one another. I think it would take five head’s worth of space to remember the nuances of them all.”

“How fitting then that it was the five of us who contrived this,” Olivia inhaled what she could, and at the sound of the final knot being tied, she smiled with relief. “The true question is whether or not you have them all down.”

“Surely not,” Theia smirked, grabbing for a chalice of wine that rested on a nearby end table. She swiftly took a sip, priming herself for an uncomfortable evening with too many masked faces to hope for a genuine human connection. “My job is to be someone they have conceptualized in their mind as the Herald of Andraste. It is just as much of a performance as what you are tasked with.”

Olivia smirked as the servant woman held her hand and helped her step into her gown for the night. In tandem with Josephine’s advice, Olivia went for something atypical of Orleisian style: something with the sleek sophistication of the Free Marches, but a bit of fanfare from Antivan fashions. The gown was figure-tight around her waist, chest, and hips, but flared out in a billowy A-line. On the back, a train of translucent fabric matching the black color of the gown hung from the top. Framing the back and sides of her shoulders was a crest of silver embellished lash that was stiff and dramatic, perfect for gaining attention. On her shoulders were two bell cap sleeves, plumed and puffed to perfection, made of black-dyed velveteen. They gave way to long, tight-fitting sleeves.

The neckline was straight, accenting her cleavage with a “less is more” theme. The outfit left her chest bare for jewels, and with the ornate but sleek updo of her hairstyle, she would show off any embellishment well. Adjusting her dress skirts, Olivia remained still as the servant woman kindly began painting her lips to match the opaque darkness of her gown. She was going to be a show-stopper, and they only had one shot at this.

Watching the finishing touches take place, Theia sighed and folded her arms. “Pity Cassandra couldn’t be here to see how devastating you can be when all polished like a seductress candlestick,” she remarked playfully.

Olivia raised a brow, keeping her lips still for the remainder of their painting. Once the woman withdrew, she smiled and said thank you, before turning her attention to her friend.

“If she did, I would consider the operation over before it began,” she walked her way over, adjusting and rolling her shoulders as she settled into the feel of her ensemble. “Besides, she trusts me enough to be able to be here and carry out my work, no matter what I must look like in the process.”

“I must say, I am impressed she was convinced so easily. Only one argument?”

“Theia, you give her little credit. After all, hasn’t Josephine had to watch you be dressed up and served on a silver platter before without intervening? I seem to recall an occasion in my own former Estate, wherein I had her looking at me from afar as if she could send daggers through my heart in recompense for indulging your theatrics.”

The Inquisitor cleared her throat, a hint of warm blush on her cheeks as she was reminded of a time that felt so far away, yet still sensitive to the touch. “Well, uh, yes, but that was due to a lot of outside factors in play.”

“Yes,” Olivia chuckled, “I know. Lady Josephine and I enjoy frequent breaks with tea.”

“Oh, wonderful, just what I need. More shared intelligence of my personal misadventures.”

Olivia patted Theia on the arm, before taking her chalice of wine from her hand and taking a sip for herself; the friends were not above sharing most anything, whether it be romantic entanglements or cups of alcohol.

A moment passed before Olivia’s eyes and mind turned to the evening that lay before them. “Alright, only a few moments to go, correct? What is the protocol for our scenarios, again?”

Theia nodded and took a breath in preparation. “You are to get him to chase your tail as an old flame, like you suggested. Get him to follow you and follow where you go as much as you can. Josephine and I will do our best to captivate audiences and get Lady M caught up in the fanfare. Vivienne will be interception if she decides to go after Lord Vincent. She will probably have contacts and friends as her surveillance, so she will do her best to keep eyes open for them as well. The important part is that you stake your claim up front, and work decisively.”

Olivia nodded as her friend explained the rules and the risks. It wasn’t the hardest maneuver she ever had to do, but it wasn’t the easiest, either. She would have to be precise, cunning, and purposeful; no wasting time or sentimentalities.

“Minerva Lucina will have people in the wings, as he does. Rumor has it she’s a trained tempest,” Theia recited what she recalled from Leliana’s reports. “So, be careful not to drink from strange glasses, or eat from oddly-placed plates of food. We will be having an agent pose as a servant who will ensure you are never without wine to pose with.”

“Right, right,” Olivia mumbled as she began to pace, getting herself in the headspace. “And if M gets to me?”

“Deflect and find someone else to fixate on, give her the impression you’re a misguided temptress who is simply after her next source of wealth and food. That is if you don’t get him alone quickly enough, though. That needs to be your goal: alone, with doors and windows we can surveil and secure with our own strength.”

“Good. I can have him solitary in an hour, if you can just keep the path clear.”

Theia walked over to the small desk by Olivia’s bed, and picked up what looked to be two keys on an iron ring. Holding it out to her, she walked back over to where she stood.

“There’s two keys here, one iron and one nothing more than chalk encased in a clay cast. If you need to provide a key to someone for whatever reason, but do not wish it to work or give access to the person, give them this one. The other one is your true key to your room,” she fiddled with her fingers to secure a grip on the darker colored key, “this one.”

Olivia nodded, taking the keys from her and slipping them in between her compressed breasts, somehow finding the room for such things despite the tightness of her undergarments. “Alright, anything else?”

“Nothing but what Josephine has said: no bloodshed, no murdering or senseless killing under the cover of darkness. This is going to be traceless, on word and not weapons.”

Olivia felt a twinge of anxiety in her gut, remembering Cassandra’s promise. She hoped it wouldn’t come to it tonight, and she would never have to know what would be on the other side of a broken promise to either side.

“Noted. Now, then.” Olivia sauntered over to her bed, where the rest of her ensembled was laid out. Swiftly she lifted her leg, pulling her gown skirts back and revealing her stocking-laced skin. The rim of her lingerie exposed the thigh strap with an open slot for a dagger, and she grabbed one with a brutal curled blade, slipping it into the custom-fitted leather sleeve. Wasting no time, she reached again for a row of small, thick glass bottles filled with what looked like blue syrup. They were anything but sweet, though, and could pack a powerful explosion if need be. She slipped them into a small, discrete compartment in her thigh strap.

“I’m set,” she said, tossing her skirts back over her leg. The rest of her reinforcement would have to be the magic she held in her own body.

Theia nodded, hands pulling and adjusting on her formal coat. “Good. We should head down, so we are not too far in line in the processional of entering guests. You know how I despise lines,” Theia teased, trying to lighten the mood. Olivia smirked in return, her shoulders softening their posture as she made her way over to her friend who awaited her by the door.

“To think, Theia, this is the first time we’ve embarked on an operation where we did not have to entire at separate times and in separate doors before,” Olivia smiled as she took her arm.

Theia’s brow raised a bit. “Yes, we are truly moving on up in the world. Me, a mythical heroine probably doomed to an early and tumultuous demise, and you, a former harlot singlehandedly securing the accounts of an entire Inquisition and not just the meal tickets of four other rogue Mages.”

“’Tis a pity, I had hoped to be a Queen by now,” Olivia choked back a laugh, which Theia also had to do, hearing the ridiculous humor cap off their dramatics. 

“If only, Olivia. Perhaps in the next life.”

\--

While they entered the main wing of the Ball together, Theia and Olivia were due to separate so as to leave as little direct connection between them as possible, allowing for Theia and Josephine to work their own machinations without being connected to Olivia’s plan. Instead, Olivia and Vivienne paired off, linked publicly by their time in Montsimmard and notoriety as Orleisian Mage sweethearts who packed punches. Such a platonic pairing was sensational to the Orleisian nobility.

The Ballroom was cavernous, tall with vaulted ceilings and a grand staircase which led down to the main floor. There, three rows of large, ornamental card tables spanned across the space, with bodies dressed in opulent gowns and coats had begun orbiting around. Some had already found their seats and playing partners, eager to both win and lose exorbitant amounts of money they would probably never feel directly effected by.

Arriving at the top of the stairs, Olivia and Vivienne exchanged a knowing glance; Madame de Fer was also out to play, dressed in an equally ravishing gown, multicolored with facets of white, blue, and grey, some of her trademark colors.

Seeing her glance, Vivienne smiled. “At last, dear, we have come to play.”

Olivia took a discrete breath.

“Announcing the arrival of High Enchanter Vivienne of the Imperial Court, with her friend and companion, Lady Olivia Berenice Sinclair of Orlais!” the decree graded on Olivia’s fine-tuned nerves like nails on a chalkboard. She knew that across the room, people were invoking her alias, and her reputation that had been salted by Lady Adalia. It was still uncomfortable, though from the outsider’s perspective, she looked right at home.

As they made their way down the grand staircase, Olivia took care to appear tall and confident; doing anything less when beside Madame de Fer was considered a social death sentence for your credibility. Vivienne proved most amiable in allowing Olivia to follow her lead, though, and she was able to take comfort that if she was mirroring her boldness, she was probably doing well.

She saw the ways eyes through their decorative masks all turned to watch them descend, and she didn’t know whether their awe was from fear, anger, or joy. Such was the Orleisian way of things.

Finally touching down on the base of the ballroom floor, Olivia heard the following announcement which soothed the feeling of having all the attention on her:

“Announcing the arrival of Her Worship, Inquisitor Theia Trevelyan of the Ostwick Circle of Magi, and the Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet of Antiva, Chief Ambassador to the Inquisition!”

From above and through the corner of her gaze, Olivia saw the way Theia and Josephine looked as they stood proud and regal at the top of the stairs. Theia, holding Josephine’s hand on her arm, standing with her stoic and clever façade. Josephine, beautifully dressed, glowing in the chandelier light. The way they had all attention on them, and their truth in both playing the Game and being with each other. It made a piece of her heart ache in a visceral way, envious that she could not enjoy such basking with her own person. But, she only had precious seconds to lament, for the Game was afoot. She wasn’t here to cry or be emotional, she was here to do a job.

Olivia turned her gaze to Vivienne, who seemed already two steps ahead of her.

“Take care, my dear, to not waste time with appetizers when you are hungry for the main course,” she said, smirking as she squeezed Olivia’s hand. Then, she was off, not waiting for Olivia to be ready to fend for herself – she had to be, regardless.

Olivia steeled herself, arching her shoulders back and assuming the role she had been born to play: that of a clever, entertaining, and sexy Orleisian courtesan. All else had to fade away. When she felt as if she had stepped into her “self,” she wore a bewitching, sly grin on her lips as she began to strut her way down the middle walkway between rows of tables. Men turned and eyed her, allured and easily captivated by her display. It was like a warm-up exercise, and she knew what she was ultimately gunning for.

For, in a parlor off to the side of the main ballroom chamber, there was a chaise lounge with rows of benches half-circled around it and a fireplace. That lounge was as good as a throne for a mistress who wished to market her position, whilst everyone else would surround her or pine for her attention. If it was anywhere she needed to be, it would be laying on that chaise.

Her hips swayed masterfully as she made her way through couplings and groups of people, making one or two heads in each one turn to see her. She even got a few “My Lady” greetings from men she knew were not her target audience.

At last, she arrived at the parlor with the lounge, dismayed a bit to see a woman already having claimed it. She recognized the inconsequential mistress – Lady Georgiana, young and petty – trying to fill in a seat for a woman with the disposition of a petulant siren.

Olivia smiled, unimpressed and prepared.

“Lady Georgiana,” she purred, making her way to stand directly in front of her, looming a bit with a shadow cast by the chandelier light.

“Lady Olivia,” Georgiana giggled, holding a stem of grapes close to her mouth as she was sprawled out on her side, her overly-decorated and over-sewn gown piled like a deflated hot air balloon. “I am surprised to see you are still allowed in these engagements. Surely someone with your wiles would find more appropriate social engagements out in the city square, pining for your wine rather than being served it.”

Olivia chuckled, placing her hands on her hips and pushing out her chest. “Lady Georgiana, always a pleasure. I am afraid I was sent here by Lady Abernathy on distinct orders to politely inform you that contrary to your occupation of this parlor, that this was not the designated play area for children, and to kindly remove yourself so a woman with the proper talent of making an indentation in the couch can relax.”

Lady Georgiana promptly gasped, releasing her fan and waving it briskly in her face to cover her “offense” taken by such an insinuation. “Olivia, you spiteful pixie, you speak out of turn!”

“If you think me duplicitous, you can take it up with Lady Abernathy herself, if she remembers how to address you. Although,” Olivia rubbed her hands down the tight-fitting bodice of her gown, accentuating her figure “I would not be surprised if she first insists on another chalice of wine to be sent her way at once. The choice is yours, my dear, the world is your oyster!”

The surrounding giggles and whispers from people sitting around the lounge let on who was proving the more convincing side. Georgiana’s face turned red under her mask, and she lurched up, showing a bit of clumsiness in reaction to the cumbersome nature of her gown. Once she finally got herself up on her own two feet, she stood and pouted.

“Such insolence from a common bottom-feeder!” she cursed, before stomping off towards the balconies.

Olivia laughed with a coy pitch to her voice, turning to watch her leave. “But of course, Lady Georgiana, the bottom is where all the most delicious crumbs fall, after all!”

She clapped her hands once, holding them to her chest in theatrical delight. Then, at last, she fluffed out her skirts and took her position as the Mistress on display. Gathering her legs and laying down on her side, elbow primly tucked under her shoulder, she did as Theia advised: stuck her claim of presence in the room. Now, as her wisdom suggested, all she had to do was wait, all consumed in the luster and splendor of her persona.

Meanwhile, on the inside, Olivia always struggled with the more caustic nature of her façade. Coldness and cruelty were not part of her soul, but they were as adapted as most any part of her after years and years of training. Feeling the aura of the room seep into her skin and bones almost, ready for her prey to make himself know, she could feel the ways in which this had been her most dangerous security blanket. What was once so easy and numbing to her had become uncomfortably foreign. She knew, though, that now wasn’t the time to sit and ponder what had changed. She couldn’t doubt herself, not now.

Her inner thoughts became shelved again as she saw a singular man’s figure begin to weave his way through the crowd towards her. Olivia did not flinch or become alarmed – rather, she acted as if this was her expectation all along. He was wearing a lion-inspired mask, a most unoriginally patriotic choice. His coat was a lush hunter green with bronze-hued metallic embellishment on the shoulders and down the buttons. He had thick boots on, versatile and well-crafted. His slender but broad figure was most reminiscent of a skilled hunter. But, feeling ultimate in her power, Olivia felt like she was the one on the scent of a prize.

A sly smile was on his face as she began to see more and more details of his physical appearance. Chalice held close to his chest, he progressed in her direction, looking as if he had been meaning to do so all evening and had just freed himself up to do it at last. Olivia looked away, reaching for the bowl of grapes that Lady Georgiana had been cozying up to before she was displaced. Reaching and plucking a couple off the stem, she held them close to her mouth, waiting to take a bite.

Eventually, he closed the distance between them, standing no more than a few feet from the resting Goddess on her chaise couch. He bowed his head reverently, hand reaching into the pocket of his tight, thickly woven pants.

“My Lady,” his thick Orleisian accent out to play tonight, “it is a relief to know the most beguiling muse in the forest has returned to claim her throne.”

His voice was familiar. It was the same one she had enchanted into reciting poetry off the top of his head so many months ago. Back when she was the Game player with all the cards, all the potential to make the board her own kingdom.

“Lord Vincent,” Olivia smiled, parting her teeth just enough to hold a grape to them, “you falsely assume that I ever forsook it.”

“Hah! Of course, my mistake, Lady Olivia,” he purred with a rugged voice, the voice of a Chevalier who had been places and lived to tell the tale – and would do so at the drop of a potent brand of wine. Leaning down, he reached for her free hand, gently taking it and holding her knuckles to his lips. He kissed lightly, not enough to be considered crass, but enough to allude to an intention to have more later.

“I am besotted that you remember me, given our last encounter ended so uneventfully.”

“No one could forget you, Monsieur. If we can remember the seasons for what they do to trees, I can remember the way you danced with me that night in the courtyard. If you have regrets, I advise you rectify them when you still can.”

Olivia’s eyes glimmered, a subtle manipulation of her magic. She maintained her smile as she took a bite from the grape in between her fingers. She kept her gaze unforgivingly fixated on his own.

Chewing discretely and swallowing her mouthful she retracted her hand.

“As for your faux pas in your introduction, I am sure I can forgive such insolence, with a stipulation of course.”

He put his hand to his chest, as if he had been struck by an arrow. “Such mercy, my muse. Anything, everything is yours for the taking. Name it.”

His choice of phrase sent a sting of emotion through Olivia’s chest – Cassandra’s voice echoing in her mind as she stared up at him. It was as if, even in her absence, Cassandra was watching her every move as if seeing through her lover’s eyes. Olivia’s love for her had conjured her as a ghostly conscience, and she hoped it would not make itself known like this throughout the entire evening, for the sake of her rouse’s success.

“You introduce yourself properly, and you show me just how mortals like you like to entertain yourselves with these games,” she purred in return, her tone not missing a beat despite her internal struggle.

“My Lady,” he offered his hand, which she accepted as she glided off of the chaise and to her feet. “It would be the honor of my futile existence.”

She grinned, tucking her chin in a demure expression as she hooked her hand on his guiding arm. She stood close at his side, taking care to walk snugly against him. Feeling like she had made it through steps one and two of her Game, and with 2/3 of the first hour passed, she felt on schedule for her goal. As they made their way to a nearby card table, she glanced up to the second floor balcony, and caught a glimpse of Theia’s pale blonde hair unlike anything around her. Her body language, though briefly visible, was jubilant as if she were laughing and teasing with friends. Josephine, she imagined, was right at her side, charming the crowds along with her. Everything seemed to be just as Olivia needed it to be for her work to prove fruitful.

“Even though I would think the game is named after you, My Lady, and thus unnecessary to be explained, may I yet introduce you to Wicked Grace?”

Olivia snapped back into focus on the present moment before her, and she looked back at him, their faces close so as to exchange whispers amongst the crowd. She smiled and rolled her eyes.

“Yes, of course, Ser, but if your bluffing tactics are anything like your display earlier, you may wish to quit before you lose your good fortune.”

Lord Vincent laughed, tilting his head back as his mouth broadly opened. “Seeing you again, Lady Olivia, is proof that the Maker holds me in his good graces despite my otherwise poor judgement. A fool’s luck is still indeed just that. Come, come.”

He pulled out a chair from the card table, the last one remaining open, for her seat and not his own. Olivia raised a brow, playing impressed by his initiative. She gathered her skirts and took her seat, poised and professional. He gently tucked in the chair towards the table with her securely nestled between them. Anchoring his weight on the back of her chair, he lowered his mouth to her right ear, and grinned.

“The most prized muse in the forest surely deserves nothing less than to gamble with the wealth of the Maker himself,” and with that, he tossed a sack of sovereigns the size of a melon onto the table. The act led the surrounding company to clap and laugh with glee – such displays were as endearing as hand-holding in this sphere. Olivia took care not to seem too impressed, but she had to admit to herself that his provocative behavior was unnerving. She took a breath, and arched her back as she turned to face him head on, a mere inch between their mouths.

“Does this mean I am to be your beloved Andraste tonight?” she whispered low, eyeing his lips with fluttering eyelashes.

“If you so wish,” he smiled, reaching his fingers to lightly caress the other side of her neck, “for it is the heavens I wish to promise to you.”

Olivia grinned with parted lips, as if to suggest hunger. She leaned into his touch briefly, teasing his need for satiation, before her attention turned forward to the card table.

“Well then, good Ser,” she said aloud to the dealer, “do not keep my Lord waiting any longer!”


	4. Diversion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra finds her way to the Capitol, following after Olivia and going back on her word and her better judgement. Arriving at the Ball, she makes the decision to make herself known to the Inquisitor, her friend as much as her ally and leader. Theia is forced to choose whether she will go along with Cassandra's gambit. The interruption causes a vulnerability in the operation, and Cassandra is forced to reckon with the consequence of her being there against Olivia's wishes.

When it came to Cassandra’s journey to the Capitol, the phrase “there is no rest for the wicked” comes to mind as being a fitting theme. Having taken off from Skyhold with nothing but a horse, her sword, and a pack of clothes and belongings, she anticipated linking up with the more heavily-outfitted Inquisition contingent that went with Olivia would be waiting for her. Riding discretely for days, her reputation and allegiance to her cause managing to take a back seat as she traveled, she made her way to Val Royeaux at last – the day of the Ball, no less.

In a strange way, the sophistication of the Capitol was a welcomed feel in comparison to her nights in strange inns and farming towns. Her off-the-grid style had removed the option of planning and communicating more formal rest stops, but she hardly minded. For her, the goal was more important than the process:

Get to Val Royeaux, infiltrate the Ball, ensure in secret that Olivia’s mission went without a hitch, and then promptly leave as soon as she could. No trace, no broken trust, and she would gave peace of mind that her woman was safe. It was not the most authentic or integrous plan, but for Cassandra, the cocktail of insecurity and protectiveness proved a stealthy potency for a Seeker who could not be corrupted by any known malevolent substance.

Finding a room in a nearby inn, she got dressed and prepared for the Ball all on her own. In a way, it made her feel like Leliana, in a strange switch from Right to Left Hand of the Divine. In her head, she argued with herself: surely, if Olivia ever found out, she would be livid beyond measure. Cassandra had done many things to provoke Olivia’s temper in the past, but never this way – never outright defiance of her wishes. This was a gamble that made the Ball’s itinerary pale in comparison.

But every time she got close to convincing herself she should hang back or turn around and head back to Skyhold without a word, she thought of Olivia getting herself into a situation she could not get herself back out of. She thought of her extending herself and her talents beyond retraction, and being subjected to Orleisian cowardice and violence in the Halls of some strange, lavish corridor in a stranger’s Manor. In a way, Cassandra had projected the desire to save Olivia from herself, to saving Olivia from all of Orlais.

That, and the idea of her being bedded by a man not deserving of her, steadied her back on course. She could never let the face, the woman, the person who swore to her that not even death could keep her from her, be endangered by a situation that objectified her existence down to her sexual and erotic worth.

\--

She rode her horse to down the road following some truly outlandlish carriages, guessing that they would be heading to her destination. Eventually, a narrow path and gate within the blocks of apartments in the city gave way to a dirt road, which lead about a mile outside of the city center. There, villas and gardens began to sprawl out before her, and she could tell she was getting close. Then, another turn, and through a gate that seemed more unique in personality in comparison to the uniformity of the Capitol architecture.

Seeing the line of carriages waiting to unload guests in front of the main, large building, with columns and tapestries lining the windows, she sensed her arrival had come.

Riding past the lines of stalled carriages, she found one of the groomsmen who had been on standby to help bring in the driving horses. She rode to a half-stop, her horse still jogging when she dismounted, and she handed her horse off to the boy who seemed way to intimidated to put up a fight.

“Hello, my Lady,” he greeted, a slight fear in his voice as she uncloaked her head from her hood and slid off her riding coat, revealing her formal military garb underneath. She had taken care to play along with the frilly formal aesthetic, as much as she detested it – she was still recovering her patience from the Winter Palace. Nodding to the boy ambivalently, she hooked her coat over her arm and made her way up the stairs to the main entrance. Couples turned and eyed her advance, the way she did not care for the processional pace.

For someone who was supposed to be incognito, it wasn’t a very auspicious start. Still, with the Inquisition party having long been assimilated into the night’s festivities, the Seeker tagging along via horseback and no guard made people skeptical.

Perhaps she was a rogue warrior from a lesser-known family who scored an invitation, or perhaps she was taking advantage of the wild fray to trespass into an echelon not her own.

Keeping herself along the walls as she made her way through the corridor past the Vestibule, she saw the near-blinding luminescence of the Ballroom chandeliers through the windows. She kept her head tucked as she weaved through the outer rim of the crowd, keeping track of all the women with blonde hair to see if maybe Olivia was lurking.

At last, she found her way to a door connected to the ballroom on the second floor, which connected to the main floor via the grand staircase – the same one Olivia had made her entrance on a little less than a half hour before. Cassandra dealt with her internalized repugnance for the surrounding jubilance and artifice – it helped to be focused on a task at hand. Every time someone turned to stare at her, she merely skirted away, or dodged out of direct sight. Her dark-colored, formal armor provided just enough cover for people to assume she was someone’s body guard or handler. Especially since she wore the armor she had without her Seeker or Inquisition insignia – a rare choice in her adventures, and a less familiar fit, but it was comfortable enough.

She made her way towards the end of the ballroom hall with the staircase, and she noticed a collected crowd of entertained Nobles in the corner. It didn’t take long for her to see the woman for whom part of her job was to keep tabs on her: Inquisitor Trevelyan, making lighthearted conversation with what seemed to be dozens of people all equally captivated by her. Josephine maintained conversation beside her, talking more directly to one or two enticed faces. They had proven to be quite the salient pairing.

Ambassador Montilyet, you must educate me on what Antiva is like in the winter, I am most eagerly searching for a home to escape the freezing chill.

Inquisitor Trevelyan, is it true that you have slain not one, but three dragons?

Ambassador, you must regale us with you and Her Worship’s love story, I hardly believe the way the papers recount it!

Inquisitor, you must visit us at our Estate, come taste the best or vineyards have to offer.

The concert of pining voices gave Cassandra a sympathetic headache. For as much as she admired the Inquisitor, she had never envied her for what her position demanded of her. Perhaps she wanted her bravery and leadership but with none of the adverse consequences such as fame or pomp.

Standing beside a sculpture column, she deliberated whether or not to let Theia in on her scheme. The Inquisitor had always been a loyal and understanding ally and friend, but the contentiousness in her loyalty between Olivia and Cassandra may not end up in the Seeker’s favor. And then there was the possibility that Theia would disclose Cassandra’s secret to the others besides Olivia, making it that much harder to maneuver.

Still, Theia was a friend, a friend who had insisted in the past to both trusting and respecting Cassandra’s perspective. If this were the time to know once and for all if she meant it, even in precarious situations, this would be it.

Stepping forward, she moved towards the outside perimeter of the crowd around them, making pointed eye contact with the Inquisitor’s shifting gaze until at last, Theia’s purple irises locked with her. Not one to disclose any surprise with an audience around her, Theia grinned and returned her attention to the conversation she was apart of, holding her chalice close to her waist for a moment. Nodding and humoring for a moment longer, she then turned and put her lips to Josephine’s ear, presumably to find a window of time to sneak away to refresh herself or attend to discrete business. Josephine smiled and wished her off, believing it would not be long, of course.

Theia squeezed her on the arm with assurance before she gracefully slipped out of the crowd, the multifaceted discussion going on without her. She quickly fissured her way through the collection of figurers, aiming for the shadows of the nearest hallway which, conveniently, was a direct pathway to the less-populated Guest Wing.

She walked until she was at Cassandra’s side in the shadows, and they quietly stepped together until they rounded a corner, where at last no one was in direct sight or earshot. Though, both women knew such presumptions of privacy were naïve. They could only hope that Scouts were looming in tandem with Theia’s movements in order to ensure security.

“Cassandra,” Theia muttered, taking one last look behind them for good measure before turning her full focus onto her friend, “Maker’s breath, what are you doing here?”

Cassandra stood close to her, her hands rigidly at her sides. “I am here for Olivia.”

“Yes, I’ve gathered that. I was referring to why you decided to come given that you gave Olivia your word that you would remain at Skyhold,” Theia’s voice hissed with frustration. On the one hand, she could sympathize with the instinctive protectiveness, on the other a fragile operation hung in the balance. Cassandra had no vital purpose to its execution, besides causing Theia to go prematurely grey from anxiety.

“Inquisitor, you know as well as I do that Olivia will put her safety on the line for those she cares about most, even when it is jeopardizes her security. I do not know why you allowed her to do this given all she has to lose.”

Theia’s eyes narrowed, not exactly enjoying the implication that she had endangered one of the people whom she loved most in the world.

“Cassandra, I did not do anything to Olivia. She took the initiative, and she has the right to like we all do. You clearly do not trust her autonomy in the same way.”

“That is the farthest from the truth.”

“Oh? Then why are you here? I would think you’d be a woman of your word like I have always known you to be.”

Cassandra sighed, rubbing the back of her head. Her imperfection was starting to show in her otherwise confident stature. “Inquisitor, I know you would go to the ends of the Empires to ensure the Ambassador’s safety. Can you not understand why I would wish the same for Olivia?”

“That, I see clear as day, Seeker. But I trust Josephine to make her own choices and do with her body and mind as she chooses.”

“Even when you know it will endanger her in a way she may not be prepared for?”

“In what way is Olivia unprepared? She’s accompanied us on missions, in the field. She has saved your sorry ass from injury on more than one occasion.”

“I understand that, but—”

“Cassandra, get to the bottom of it. Enough of this. Either you tell me what has spurned you beyond your senses, or I will order you to leave at once and return to Skyhold.”

There was a pause, and the tension in the air had accumulated in such a way that it felt Cassandra could dice through it with her greatsword. Both the women stared directly into each other’s eyes, having developed the report of friends and allies who trusted each other to handle even the most unsavory of disagreements. Cassandra’s heart ached as she couldn’t escape the Inquisitor’s sobering attention.

“I…” Cassandra exhaled roughly. “I…am just as at a loss as you are. I have never found myself at the mercy of someone else’s choices as I am with Olivia. The idea…the…image, of her subjecting herself to her old ways, being with someone else, possibly getting hurt in the process, or worse…I…” Cassandra rubbed her chin and jaw with her gloved hand, taking a step to the side.

Theia folded her arms, watching her ally and confidant struggle. It made her recall when Cassandra first opened up to her about her character back at Haven: how she was impulsive, quick to act without properly thinking something through. She had never seen that as an overt weakness in the Seeker before, but now, it was glaring. She tensed her jaw, feeling the flux of pity and frustration in her mind.

“I assume this means you flagged me down in order to gain my good grace in your being here,” Theia cut to the quick, remembering that she was on borrowed time, and her absence would be felt the more minutes passed by.

Cassandra turned and looked back at her, having taken another step back to add distance between then. “Yes, Inquisitor. Though, I understand if you wish to send me back.”

“Good, because it is understandable. If it weren’t for the egalitarian nature of our alliances, I would consider you insubordinate. But, since you are my friend, and in many ways my mentor, I am uncomfortable with making a judgement like that.”

Cassandra inhaled, feeling cautiously hopeful.

“Does that mean, than…”

Theia looked off to the side, her jaw gritting a bit more. “Josephine will kill me, and Olivia will kill you, if you are found out. I assume you were planning on a secret surveillance, and withdrawing as soon as Olivia’s safety was confirmed once and for all?”

“Yes.”

The Inquisitor eyed her, for some reason feeling the need to be convinced. Scanning the look on her face, she blinked and released her jaw from its tightened grip.

“Then you may stay. But I swear, Cassandra, if you bring any attention to yourself or expose yourself to Olivia, I will need to be sequestered from you in order to protect you from my wrath. Got it?”

Cassandra nodded, her heart fluttering a bit with vindication. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

“Yeah, yeah, save it. I am all out of patience for gratitude for my allowing my allies to run amok. Just keep yourself out of trouble, and I will consider it thanks enough.”

Cassandra smirked, unable to help being amused by her friend’s clever candor. She reached a hand and gripped Theia’s shoulder whilst she was glared at by the Inquisitor’s glaring, incandescent purple eyes.

Theia huffed, and began stepping towards the path from whence they came, resolving to return to the party. “I do not understand it, Cassandra. You know how lucky you are to have Olivia, why jeopardize it by breaking her trust?”

Cassandra’s stomach sank at the quick nerve Theia hit. She swallowed hard, slowing her steps. “Inquisitor, if anything happened to her, I…” she took a breath, placing a hand against the flat of her stomach as if she had felt ill. Theia eyed her, concerned as if she was about to watch her friend puke her guts out at the mere thought of losing Olivia to anything. After a brief moment, Cassandra centered herself.

“Even if she grew to despise me, I would do anything to ensure her safety and welfare.”

Theia’s expression softened slightly, and she knew. She understood, in that moment, the twisted and inconvenient truth of Cassandra’s heart. Firsthand experienced had humbled her to such things.

“Cassandra, we cannot save the heroines we love from their own destinies. We must love them for who they are, for who they must be, and not because they belong to us.”

The two women began their walk back to the ballroom wing, side-by-side into the fray like they had always done and always would do when one or both of them needed back-up. Even when it was inconvenient and ill-advised.

“Inquisitor, if I may ask, where did you learn such a philosophy?”

Theia chuckled under her breath, the expansive light of the party encroaching on them as they neared the Ballroom. “Who else but Sister Nightingale?”

\--

At last returning, Theia was slightly unnerved to see the crowd that had gathered around her and Josephine had become disjointed and disbursed. Her nervousness had proven on point: the crowd had become hard to manage without the Herald of Andraste there to be a flame for the moths. She found Josephine, still managing to fascinate a smaller but committed group of nobles and broke away from Cassandra’s side to return to her.

“Hello, my Love,” she greeted happily, stepping into her cheerful façade.

Josephine turned and smiled broadly, reaching out a hand and grasping the Inquisitor’s eagerly. “My Darling, so good of you to return to us. I thought you had been carried off to enact more heroism,” she theatrically played the role of a lover and Ambassador well.

The surrounding company watched and laughed along with the gleeful affection as Theia stood tall. “No, no, nothing could make me miss out on this.”

It was not long after she had arrived then, that Theia was forced to bend back on her words. Vivienne arrived at her side seemingly out of nowhere – for a woman dramatically dressed, she moved around rather quietly. Stealth and style were her moniker, to be sure.

“Inquisitor,” she whispered discretely, “if I may have a quick word.”

Theia felt dread in her gut once more, turning and quickly nodding herself an excuse to slip away again. This time, it was more of a few feet to the side than into a dark corridor.

“Yes, Vivienne?” Theia said, a hush tone to her response.

“My dear, it seems as though Olivia is making progress. However, I am afraid your sojourn from the crowd has provided an opening for Minerva to find her way to the gambling floor.”

Theia’s eyes widened a bit, but she blinked them back into submission. She folded her arms casually and leaned onto one hip. “Does it look like Olivia is close to withdrawing?”

“Yes, but, Lady M works on her own time. If she sends her many limbs after her, there may be trouble.”

Theia immediately thought of Cassandra, and how she would act if Olivia suddenly became more directly endangered. The cover would be blown, and everyone’s attention would be torn between providing Olivia with support and dealing with Cassandra’s overbearingness.

“Give Olivia some more room, just for a few moments more. If she gets in under the wire, we have no reason to potentially blow cover. If we are aware of Lady M, she will be.”

Vivienne raised a brow. “Yes, my dear. But, being aware of the snake that is hungering to bite your toe whilst you stand barefoot is hardly an upper hand from a tactical standpoint.”

“Have faith,” Theia nodded, before the two women parted ways with a respectful exchange of looks. Theia returned to Josephine’s side once more, this time less extroverted in her return. Josephine was in the depths of a conversation, and for a moment, she wished to regain her composure and listen rather than engage. From across the way, she saw Cassandra’s head of short, raven black hair, leaning covertly against a column lining the balcony railing.

Having gotten the permission she needed to remain, the Seeker now had her attention fully dedicated to the woman who inspired her to come all this way in the first place. It hadn’t taken long for her searching eyes to lock on her woman – after all, she had been dressed and decorated to be eye-catching. Though for Cassandra, it was different than the gaze of all the petulant, caddy nobles she had around her. Finding Olivia in a crowd was like finding the voyager’s star in the sky, something faithful and loyal. For everyone else, Olivia was a beacon of opulent decoration and objectification. For Cassandra, it was like finding a vision of home.

So, watching her, in her stunning splendor, it was a torn sensation of awe and familiarity. The emotions were curbed, however, at the sight of her laughing and being “beguiled” by the man whom she presumed to be her target, standing over her seat at the card table, curating her experience like he was her patron.

Cassandra monitored his body language, but also found herself hanging onto Olivia’s inch for inch. The way she clapped her hands, laughed with surprise, was generous with her affection. It was reminiscent of the shell she had first encountered – the Orleisian mask that had captured Cassandra’s attention even as she had long held a disdain for any and all artificial attitude.

She found herself tilting her head more and more, carefully taking the whole scene in. Olivia was in her prime mode, clearly. But, she was also the farthest persona from who Olivia actually was. Watching her with her cards in her hand, taking advice from her overbearing party companion, Cassandra began to feel more and more guilty. What was the cause for her to come all this way? Theia was right – she couldn’t ever hope to protect Olivia as if she was some innocent to shield from the world. Even as she meant the world to her, Olivia was a person, and had ambitions and choices of her own to pursue.

What did she do to deserve this treatment and overbearing usurpation? Nothing. Logic would say Cassandra owed it to her to let her have this. After all, she had endlessly encouraged Olivia to seizer her power and prowess in what she did; if anything, her decision to embark on this mission was a product of growth in both confidence and capability. She realized it then: if Olivia had been nothing but selflessly supportive of Cassandra’s path, she deserved as much in return. It wasn’t her problem or her fault that Cassandra was giving into a well-intentioned hypocrisy.

What in the Maker’s name was she doing there then?

Leaning there, along the column, out of sight for the woman she loved to feel betrayed, she questioned herself. Perhaps she should leave, and let Olivia have this night and this victory. Not knowing about Vivienne’s warning to Theia, as far as she knew everything was going according to plan.

Just as she was about to convince herself, a pointed object stuck itself against her middle spinal column. From behind her, she felt a full gown skirt graze up the back of her legs as the person behind the blade enclosed themselves on her. Cassandra remained still, knowing all-too-well such sensations, though her heart sank with anticipation.

“You see your pretty little woman down there,” the voice whispered from behind her ear. “If you want her to leave tonight in one piece, and not filleted by blades from the five mercenary assassins I have currently surveilling her, you will walk down this hall and down to the corridor on the left.”

The voice sounded closer to Cassandra’s age, and feminine. She stayed still, but her eyes glazed a bit, hearing the threat made to Olivia’s life.

She swallowed, trusting herself to be capable in a fight. This would not be the first or the last time she would toss herself into a Lion’s den – and she was in Orlais, after all. Quietly, she stepped away from the column, losing sight of Olivia as she remained on the floor gambling and partaking in the festivities. She felt the blade be removed from her back as she obeyed the person standing behind her. As she walked, she felt the presence continue to be behind her, the skirts of her gown close enough to collide with her legs.

Knowing that she probably wasn’t walking into anything good, Cassandra felt the dagger and light sword on either side of her belt, and steeled herself as she turned the corner into the left corridor and out of the sight of all her allies. She knew, though, that she needed a saving grace. As she progressed farther and farther away from witnesses, she only had one token she could think of to use. Reaching under her collar and finding Olivia’s necklace, her heart ached for a moment as she knew she was about to risk losing her lover’s most prized possession. But, she had no options left, and time was rapidly running out.

Quietly she yanked the chain, and pulled the necklace off of her neck. Passing by one last end table, she waited for the precise moment where a subtle hand gesture would go missed. Just as she knew the woman behind her would be looking to far ahead, she slipped the necklace onto the table. All that remained was to mutter a prayer to herself, and hope that whatever laid ahead of her, she would prevail, or else be soon tracked down by her allies.

And sooner rather than later.


	5. Manners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra's absence leads to a ripple effect as Olivia progresses into the next step of her plan. Finding something in her way that changes everything, Olivia takes control of the agenda, fueled by the missing ingredient she had been feeling in her persona all evening: pure, righteous spite.

Mere minutes had passed in between Cassandra’s removal from the Ballroom at the point of a knife, and Olivia finally convincing Lord Vincent to steal away for a more private interlude. Cashing out on their accrued, gambled wealth, she was gallantly escorted up the Grand Staircase -- her raven black gown trailing behind her as she showed herself off to be the true prize to be won in the evening. Vivienne watched from a nearby column, slightly intrigued as to why there was no interception from Minerva Lucina, who had been seen moments before by the staircase observing the floor below.

It meant only one of two possible scenarios awaited the next step of the plan: either Minerva had decided to take a more creative and covert route, or she had simply not seen Olivia and Lord Vincent paired off. Vivienne knew better than to assume the second option; a cunning woman never underestimated another cunning woman.

She sauntered her way to Josephine and Theia’s side as they, too, witnessed Olivia’s advance. Having exhaled thinking they had gotten her to where she needed to be in the process, they had withdrawn to a side table in the corner to drink and take a breather.

Vivienne turned and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Theia, close as she placed a hand on her hip.

“Something is afoot, as I imagine you know, Inquisitor.”

Theia held her wine to her mouth, eyes narrowed and locked on Olivia as she and her man at last arrived at the top of the stairs. She, too, had been surprised at not having to deal with an intervening mistress. Minerva Lucina proved more ghostly than she anticipated.

“Josephine,” Theia turned and talked out the side of her mouth, “when did you last see Lady M?”

The Ambassador raised a brow, leaning over the edge of the table. “Last I saw, she had been talking with her two companions in the back corner, near the rail of the balcony. She was scanning the crowd like a vigilante. It was mere minutes ago, I swear by the Maker,” she said low.

Theia’s brow furrowed, and she turned to look back at Vivienne. “So, you last saw her by the stairs. Does this mean she did not end up descending down to the Ballroom?”

Vivienne pursed her lips. “That must be so. Which means she must be planning something more...patient. How ladylike,” she mused.

“Well, whatever it is, we are moving into the next stage. We must shift our focus to their side of the Guest Wing, I am sure that is where he is taking her for refreshments and...other things.” Theia took a quick gulp of wine. “I will have our men surround and secure a perimeter around the wing. Josephine, try to keep watch over who and who does not withdraw. If anyone is suspect, let someone know. Vivienne, wait a few minutes after I leave and then head to Olivia’s Guest suite, and tell the people on standby to mobilize onto the other side of the Guest Wing and flank her.”

Vivienne nodded, content enough with the design of the Inquisitor’s plan to go along.

Theia then turned to Josephine, reaching across the table and clutching her resting hand. She squeezed it once, offering a reassuring grin. Josephine lowered her chin, offering a coy return of confidence. Then, the Inquisitor was off to have a more direct oversight of the movements in play. She couldn’t fully withdraw from the ballroom, but she could keep her eyes and ears for any movement in the wings that signaled trouble. Her job was to be accessible to her people should things go wrong.

\--

Meanwhile, Olivia was charting her course, and for all she knew it was a seamless path to her end game. Walking with Lord Vincent as her escort, she had almost forgotten Minerva Lucina was a threat to worry about -- a frightful miscalculation, to be sure. As they made their way to the corridor, the same one Cassandra had been guided down, Olivia was poised for their party to continue in his own quarters.

Just as they were about to approach the last row of end tables, she felt his mouth go to her ear for a whisper --

“I am more elated to see you than you know, my muse. I thought surely you would vanish from this realm forever, never to be seen again. I will not take my chances this time,” he whispered, a hand resting on top of the one she had hooked on his arm. Olivia’s heart soared with cautious triumph; the kind you felt when you also understood the weight of your victory.

She smiled, looking back at him with pleasure. “Ser, you make my otherwordly tastes beg for m--Oh!”

Having turned her attention from the path in front of her, Olivia had not taken care to keep the round end tables out of her way. She gasped as she bumped into the edge of one, rocking it off-kilter as it swayed to-and-fro. Sucking in her stomach, she took an immediate step to the side, watching as the table sought its balance. Her face grew warm in tandem with her embarrassment. Lord Vincent, however, was not easily deterred by displays of Olivia’s clumsiness when it bled through. He chuckled a rich, hearty tone.

“Will nothing stand in your way, Lady Olivia?” he asked.

Olivia exhaled, smiling broadly as she realized his humor would soften the blow of her blunder. She giggled, joining in on his entertainment.

“I suppose not. I am quite unforgiving with obstacles,” she melodically replied.

The sound of grading metal caught her attention, then, as something skirted along the table’s surface. Olivia promptly investigated, approaching and reaching a hand for the small, shiny object that clearly was not a part of the decor. Perhaps a lost accessory by some airheaded Noble?

No.

Her heart sank as she saw the pendant she treasured more than most anything in this world, save for few people and ideals. The pendant her Father had gifted her for her debut, the token she trusted with only one person -- one woman, and only her.

Olivia picked it up immediately, holding it as if she had found something she had lost ages ago, thinking it gone forever. Lord Vincent tilted his head, growing a bit confused as to why she would hone on a random trinket.

“Is everything alright, my Lady?” he kept his charming smile, though it had waned a bit in its exuberance.

Olivia’s heart began to race. This could only mean one thing, and that thing was a complex “thing.” Her stomach felt like it was about to sink through the marble floor. She only had spare seconds to make a decision on how to approach this development.

She grinned, straightening her posture as she turned to look back at the Lord.

“Oh, my, I think this is something of value. It looks too simple and inexpensive to be anything but, I dare say someone may have lost it. Perhaps I will hand it off to a servant so they may investigate further. If you will excuse me, Lord Vincent, I should only be a moment?”

Lord Vincent shook his head, chuckling a bit. “Such a merciful heart, you have. Of course. Do not be long, though -- I fear that you may steal away into the night like you did before.”

Olivia nodded and unlinked her arm from his hold. “Never, Ser. I am your Andraste, after all.” She stroked his cheek with her hand, tracing the contour of his Orleisian mask a bit, before she turned and saw herself back to the Ballroom. She could see the way his eyes and jaw all tensed in anticipation of her affection, enticed by this one simple gesture. It assured her that he would be waiting for her and not busy with some other beautiful distraction.

As soon as she had rounded the corner she began strutting at a breakneck pace towards the corner where the Ambassador and Madame de Fer were keeping observant company with each other, weaving in and out of sedentary bodies like a vengeful wind current. Her gown hastily flowed around her like waves crashing on a ship as it advanced. Her expression of panic made Josephine immediately turn her full attention on her.

“Lady Olivia, what has happened? Why are you...?” she asked, but did not finish the sentence, when at last Olivia had made it to their table standing close to them enough to ensure a discrete conversation.

With a brisk temper she held the necklace in her fist up in front of her, shaking it in rhythm with her words as she replied. “Cassandra. She is here. This is my necklace that she wears under her armor.”

Vivienne tilted her chin upwards and grinned, leaning an elbow onto the table. “How positively comical. The Seeker, straying along after a diplomatic mission.”

Olivia held back a growl. “She promised me she would not come. Where is Theia? I have to tell her, so she knows to look for her whilst I--”

“Theia Sofia,” Josephine grumbled under her breath, eyes narrowing as she looked beyond Olivia’s shoulder. Her break in decorum by referring to the Inquisitor by her birth name precluded the truth. When Olivia turned to follow her reprimanding gaze, she saw that her friend she had just asked about was standing at attention as if she knew she was involved in the trouble afoot. Standing alone, her hands gathered behind her waist, Theia looked sorry for something she hadn’t yet admitted to.

“Olivia, I…” she cleared her throat, having heard enough to know Cassandra had been found out.

Her hesitance provided Olivia with the answer ahead of time. At once, her eyes turned to a steely glare, and her posture hunched in anger.

“You knew, and you did not tell me?”

Theia stepped closer. “She arrived an hour ago, I had no idea she had followed before then. But, yes, I allowed her to stay. She was only here to ensure your security, and then leave without a trace.”

Olivia shifted her weight between her feet, unsettled and ready to rip the roof off of the Ballroom with her power. Her eyes began to glow with bright, golden fury. Theia leaned a bit back, seeing the fierce malice in her friend’s face spread like a storm.

“By the Maker, if I could consume this whole bloody scene in fire, I would. But now, Theia, you must deal with this mess.” Olivia marched to her, grabbing her hand from her side and opening her palm. She shoved her necklace into Theia’s hand for her to see and feel for herself. The Inquisitor gazed down at the old, weathered pendant, knowing it was of extraordinary value to Olivia but not exactly understanding how her logic followed.

“Olivia, I do not--”

“Cassandra wears this, and she would never part with is unless she had to, or she…” Olivia gulped, then, stopping herself from saying that which she could not even fathom. “You need to find her. If you put her at risk, if she endangered herself...you...” Olivia began to breathe heavier, standing back and gazing to Josephine, then to Vivienne.

A moment of bubbling-over panic had begun to take hold of her. A visceral reactive combination of anger towards Cassandra, and terror that her life and safety were at stake. It was ironic, considering the Seeker had come all this way to ensure Olivia’s safety, and now she was the one proving to be the greatest liability.

“Olivia, of course I will find her,” Theia clutched the necklace in her hand with care. Promptly, Josephine came around and stood at Olivia’s side, offering a hand on her shoulder. Olivia allowed the physical contact, seeming to be more amiable for the women in the room who had not condoned her lover’s dishonest scheming.

“I assume Lord Vincent if waiting on you for whatever reason you gave to return to the Ballroom. We must cover our tracks if you are to locate Cassandra with minimal danger.”

From behind them, Vivienne laughed softly. “We are too late for that, Ambassador.”

All three women turned to look at her, as if to insist on an explanation for her assertion. Vivienne, of course, was more than happy to oblige.

“Why do you think Cassandra is missing in the first place? We just discussed how Minerva did not go downstairs. She must have spied on the Seeker and made her move. If anything, she is awaiting you somewhere in the Guest Wing to exchange a ransom lover for a ransom lover.”

Olivia’s face turned pale, and she immediately turned her attention to Theia, who seemed to be dreading the mess she had a part in making all-the-more. The panic in her had not subsided, but instead taken a different form: one of brazen, impatient initiative.

“If she is awaiting me, who am I to keep her?” Olivia hissed, pulling at her gown so as to make room for her fast-paced steps. Without another word or care as to what anyone had to say, she stormed off, back towards the corridor she had come from.

Theia turned and reached a hand out to her, but it quickly fell in futility. “Olivia!” she tried to call her back, but something in her knew. Olivia wasn’t going to stop this for anyone or anything short of Cassandra being safe and sound, even if it was in order to kill her with her own two hands for her lying.

Sighing heavily, the Inquisitor turned to look back at her lover, the Ambassador, and her fear-filled eyes.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine said, “is she going to endanger herself?”

“Of course she is. Would you do anything less if I was taken hostage?”

Josephine’s heart sank, and she looked back out towards the hall, watching Olivia’s figure disappear into the crowd. “Then, you must get our people organized. She cannot go into Minerva Lucina’s nest alone.”

Theia nodded, and turning to Vivienne. “Let’s go.”

\--

Back in the corridor, Lord Vincent had rested his elbow on the same table Olivia had found the piece of jewelry on. He was patient, for someone who enjoyed conning the Inquisition. Seeing the figure of a nimble woman in a black gown return around the corner, he stood tall and upright at attention, holding one arm behind his back and preparing to offer the other for her own hand.

“Lady Olivia, at last, you have kept your word,” he played, a zealous smile on his lips.

Catching his attention Olivia knew her body, mind, and soul were now fully in their glory for her persona. Her hips swayed with a determined power, and she kept her hands to her sides as she made her way back to him. Turns out, all she needed was a bit of spite mixed into her personality formula, and her life as of late had been so pleasant that she needn’t maintain it in her soul. Well, now, envisioning Cassandra lying to her face and risking her hide for the most ridiculous reasons, spite was not only present once more, but in spades.

“Lord Vincent, do you yet have so little faith in me? Come, let us make up for the time I have delayed our fun with,” she grinned, beckoning him to follow her.

“A Lady with initiative has always been my weakness,” he replied, gathering both arms behind his back and following at her side. They walked at a generous pace down the straight corridor until they turned a corner. Once in the privacy of an unvisible space from the crowd’s gossip, she reached a hand and pushing him by the shoulder up against the wall, just beside one of the large and lavishly-framed portraits.

Lord Vincent huffed, but his smile said anything but disturbed. In fact, he played in quite nicely, watching as Olivia descended on him, pinning him against the wall and grabbing him by the collar of his coat.

“Tell me, my Lord, when last you said your prayers?” she breathed, her lips to his, arching her back so as to lean into him with her chest.

Lord Vincent took a breath, obviously engrossed in her like some fever dream. Men, Olivia thought, men were useless.

“Far too long, my Lady. But I have been meaning to rectify that,” he whispered back, reaching and touching her cheek and jawline. In return, Olivia took it one step further, raising her leg and resting her foot on the wall, corralling him with her thigh. It didn’t take long, for when she at last put her lips on his and kissed him with a hot, breathy tone, his hand went immediately to work exploring the path beginning at her knee, scooting her gown skirt up higher and higher.

Olivia had to be patient, if only for a moment, as he relished in this privilege. His touch was hungry, but without integrity -- Olivia had taken enough conquests to know the difference. Perhaps she had also been spoiled in recent months with knowing the touch of a woman who acted as if such a thing was a divine responsibility given from the Maker’s mouth himself. Nevertheless, Lord Vincent’s maneuvers were hardly anything to write home about.

But, at last, he had exposed enough of her leg to make her next move possible. As they kissed, the stubble of his short-shaved beard grazing against her soft lips, she kept track, until at last she slid her hand from his chest and onto her thigh. Her left thigh.

Lord Vincent let out a gasp of air as the woman he thought he finally had all to himself broke away from him at once. He let out another, less aroused one, when she pulled at the shoulder of his sleeve and twirled him around to face the wall. Without hesitating she used her leg she had propped up between her and the wall to knee the middle of his lower back forward, and she shifted her grip to the back of his collar and grabbed it as if it were the nape of an insolent puppy.

Lord Vincent’s face went soberingly up against the wall, his cheek compressed in a most unattractive way.

That would have been pain enough, if he didn’t feel her lean in, curved blade against the side of his jaw and neck.

“Well, this was fun, my Lord. But I am afraid I have a commitment elsewhere. You may know with whom, since she is your Mistress after all.”

She could hear him try to rumble something, perhaps a question. She did not have a care either way. She adjusted her grip on her dagger to hold the blade verticle, the pointed edge touching down on the skin between his neck and shoulder. Such a plunge with her weapon would surely kill him.

“Now, be a good man, and escort me to my appointment before you will be forced to recite those pesky prayers of yours directly to the Maker’s face, that is, if he would allow your pathetic hide in his presence.”

She then retracted her dagger for a quick use, slipping it down between his belt and his coat, slicing through the leather swiftly and disarming him from the pitiful knives he had hooked to his waist. She grabbed the now useless belt and held it behind her hip, stepping back with her weapon pointed toward him.

Lord Vincent put his hands up and stepped away from the wall, turning to face her, betrayal of lust in his eyes.

“Lady Olivia,” he said, a shallow breath in his throat, “You, you--”

“Save it,” she growled, “and if you think whatever weapon you have hiding in your chest pocket is going to save this for you, I have some bad news.”

Olivia’s eyes then began to glow, an aura of sinister metallic light emanating from them in the dimly-lit hallway. Then, in tandem, her hands began to show ribbons of pyromantic energy. The air around them began to smell of smoke. She looked less like a muse or Goddess, and more like a desire demon playing dress up with the body of a woman.

Lord Vincent’s remaining foolish courage dissipated, and he began to quiver. “A mage….” he breathed.

“Yes, fool. What else am I, a bundle of miraculous sunshine? Now, get a move on, before your body becomes a quick on a candle.”

He nodded fast, giving into her absolute control for the moment. She then reached and grabbed the back of his coat again, holding her dagger to his ribs.

“Good. Let us be off then,” she growled against his ear. “You must never keep a Lady waiting.”


	6. Arrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia goes after Cassandra and proves capable of shifting the tide in her favor all on her own. She confronts Lady Minerva once and for all, reckoning with her underhanded tactics. Just as she thinks she has it all handled, though, something goes wrong, and suddenly her nightmares become real.

The room was messy, to the point where even in the thick of the moment Cassandra was annoyed by it. It was a good thing then, perhaps, that a belt was tied around her mouth and between her teeth. They matched the way her hands were tied behind her, bound to a chair beside the study desk. She had participated in this charade knowing that it wouldn’t be tactful to greet the situation with brute force -- clearly, her friendship with Theia had an influence, since before the Inquisition she would have done exactly that. Then again, maybe it was Olivia, and how her fighting style aired on the side of making her enemy do the work for her and picking a moment of insecurity.

Either way, she had yet to object to the machinations of the person in charge of all this.

That person, however, was busying herself with enjoying a chalice of wine on the nearby balcony. Her crimson red ball gown taking up more than half the floor of it, the off-the-shoulder neckline leaving more than enough skin for the appreciation of the crowd. She had since removed her matching mask, opting for her captive to know the face of the upper hand. Her brown-black hair tousled out of her face, its thick waves falling down to her waist. She was about as old as Cassandra first instinctively guessed -- perhaps 35, maybe even 40 if she had kept herself in good shape like she appeared to have.

Lady Minerva Lucina was polished and pristine, but she wasn’t above getting her hands dirty. Which is why when she saw the Seeker, who was rumored to be Olivia’s lover -- the grapevine from the Inquisition to the Capitol was a flourishing one -- she knew she had found her adversary’s weakness in return for her finding Minerva’s. She made quick work, estimating that Olivia’s allies would suspect her to confront her directly.

But she was nothing if not flexible.

Taking another gulp of wine, she returned inside, glancing at the several mercenaries standing in various areas of the room, easily at attention for her command. Lord Vincent had to get creative with love gifts as years wore on, but he knew what satisfied her. A hired gang of experd swordsmen, dual-blade wielders, and archers were a most splendid gift.

The quiet had become too annoying for her -- she was awaiting company, and it had proven tedious to do so.

“Ah, such suspense,” she held her hand to her mouth, her index finger gently grazing her bottom lip. “Perhaps your woman is not as loyal as you would hope, Seeker.” She set down her drink on the corner of her provisional dest.

Cassandra glared at her, trying to come across as genuinely phased and out-gunned. Internally, though, she was feeling for the small knife she had planted in her shirt sleeve. These mercenaries clearly needed better training -- Seekers never would position a hostage’s chair facing the wall. Such mistakes allowed for covert escapes from bindings.

Feeling for the sharp edge of the tool, she had been gently pushing it down towards her palm. It was slow work, but if she could pull it off, the combination of her freedom and reinforcements would make quick work of the room.

But that meant she’d have to trust that reinforcements would indeed come.

Staring at her, Minerva couldn’t help but laugh. “I keep forgetting you cannot converse with me. You see, it does become boring being around swarthy Chevaliers all day long. When a woman of your stature comes along, I am quite out of my element. You must tell me later how you find it, finally being around another capable woman after taking the company of a common Sprite.”

Minerva folded her arms, leaning against her desk and smiling with triumph before it had been properly obtained. Cassandra detested this quality in people, but she knew she had little reason to cause a fight now.

The tension was broke by a knock on the door. Lady M quickly turned her attention to it, nodding to one of her mercenary men to be the one to open. The man took hold of his dagger on his belt as he did so. He turned the knob and allowed a few inches of opening, but the mystery was short-lived.

“My Lord!” the man said, pulling on the door and stepping back out of the way. Minerva’s brow raised, and she stepped closer to find that indeed, Lord Vincent was standing at the other side of the entryway, alone.

“Vincent? Where is that whore of yours!” she said spitefully, placing a hand on her hip. “You were supposed to bring her to me!”

Vincent quaked a bit in his stance, blinking a few times to regain his composure. He stepped inside, his posture rigid as if he was a nervous choir boy about to give his first solo performance. The mercenary who had welcomed him in checked behind him, and found not one single soul in the hallway or behind the door. He was truly solitary, as if Olivia had never been his companion in the first place.

“My dear,” he managed to get out as he glanced at Cassandra for a moment. “You make plots without including me, you cannot blame me for not executing them to perfection. When were you to tell me you were using me as a flame for a moth?”

Minerva groaned like a lioness could roar. “You associate with dogs you will have fleas in your hair! This is what you deserve, you petulant imbecile of a man!” She then turned and began to pace. This was not supposed to be the way things went -- surely, she thought, Olivia would make a bee-line if Cassandra had gone missing. Perhaps their love affair was just that: rumor, and the woman wouldn’t be impressed by the absence of the Seeker after all.

She growled under her breath. Her hunger to show Olivia who was boss in the Capitol was ravenous, especially after watching her make her moves on her man.

Cassandra observed quietly, trying to make the “math” work in her mind: Olivia had been stuck like glue to him all evening, and she was supposed to retire with him to his quarters. What made her deviate? She had to stop herself from feeling hopeful, because it may leak into her body language and face. The last thing she needed was to get Minerva’s attention and make the gears in her mind start working on a back-up-plan all the faster.

As she contained herself, she felt the tip of her knife slide down and exposed against the bottom of her palm. Progress was progress.

“Now what am I to do with the Seeker? Just let her go and tattle-tale to the Inquisitor? They’ll know for sure then of our business,” Minerva thought out loud. Her lover seemed still awkward and uncomfortable despite being in the company of his colleagues and woman. He folded his arms like he was playing a part, and not getting cozy. Luckily, Minerva had her back to him as he did so, otherwise Cassandra was sure she would have noticed.

“You made this mess, Minnie. You can handle it like a grown woman. Kill her, release her, whatever you do, just finish it.”

Minnie? Cassandra bit her lip hard, containing her smirk. She had spent too much time around Olivia to not find humor in such things. She would have to remind herself later to practice reinforcing her poker face.

“Yes, let me kill Cassandra Pentaghast in my Guest suite, Vincent. That is surely the best option we have on the table.”

“The best option was not turning into a blundering femme fatale because I caught the attention of a beautiful young harlot, Minerva. You made the mistake!”

“I will not have you flaunt yourself and your dog-like hunger in public at my expense!”

The couple had devolved into earnest squabbling, and Cassandra could feel a headache forming in the back of her eyes. The mercenaries even seemed fatigue, and she could swear she saw someone roll their eyes. Meanwhile the knife was all-but out completely, and she began holding it against the thin hide of the strap around her wrists. The cover of their arguing was enough to start slicing back and forth ever-so-discreetly.

“You are the most vile woman when it comes to these affairs!” Vincent growled, his arms flailing.

“Call me that again and I will show you the true meaning of it when your entrails are plastered all over the Capitol!”

Vincent began to reply, but a cut-off breath caused him to choke. He began coughing into his hand, a dry, airy breath escaping his lungs as if he has drank a stiff liquor.

Minerva rolled her eyes and folded her arms. “Oh, please, poor ill lover of mine, do not expect my pity.” Her comment was quickly disproven, though, as he kept coughing. He hunched over a bit, fear taking hold in his eyes. Minerva quieted, and with the change in mood Cassandra stopped working on cutting her bind. Her brow slightly furrowed watching as Minerva stepped closer to him.

“Vincent, what is the matter with you?” she asked, her tone being drown out by his coughing. His noises started to become more gutterul, and he began to groan and whine in pain. One arm went across his stomach, the other holding his clenched fist against his mouth.

“Vincent! Has someone poisoned you!?” Minerva took hold of him. Their men began to step closer, surrounding the man as he had his episode. They watched him like a hawk.

“I...I..” he said through his cough. “I cannot…” but he let out one gasp. Then, as if strung on puppet wires, he lurched up and stood straight, weight on his toes. His face, with his wide eyes and gaping mouth. He looked as though he was holding his breath, or that his chest had been compressed.

Minerva began to panic. “You idiot, what is going on? What happened!?” she asked, knowing it was probably fruitless. Her temper was as annoying as it was illogical.

Then, a shadow draped into the room from the balcony door. The shadow of a long gown skirt, a petite frame, and a high collar of embellishment.

“What’s the matter, lover, cat got your tongue?” a voice, deeply pleasured by the obscene look of a man suspended and frozen like a doll.

Minerva and her men immediately turned to see who had darkened the proverbial doorway. Cassandra immediately froze as she saw the profile of Olivia’s head and chest appear within the balcony opening. Making herself known, having allowed for Vincet to infiltrate his own quarters whilst she found an alternative route of entry -- scaling walls and a roof or two proved quite interesting in an evening gown, but, appearances were everything. As Minerva’s face began to fill with ultimate fury, Olivia responded by smiling broadly.

“Minerva Lucina, what a pleasure. Do not mind me, I simply grow tired of squabbling. It does grade on the ears, don’t you think?” Olivia tilted her head and winked. “Now, I suppose you are wondering what all of this is about, no?”

Minerva growled. “Olivia Sinclair, I will have my men fillet you alive if you have poisoned by lover!” She stepped towards her aggressively, hands collected into fists at her sides.

Olivia scoffed, taking a step forward as well, curbing her advance. “Poisoned? Minerva, I don’t take pages from your playbook.” She then dodged her encroachment by stepping over to the side, towards the desk where her wine chalice rested. It was then she made first eye contact with Cassandra, something the Seeker had been hoping for since the second she showed up. Olivia merely blinked, her face stone-cold and focused on her part to play. Besides, paying attention to Cassandra would only remind her of the complex anger she felt for her, and in this moment her need to ensure her safety was more important.

“Then what have you done?! Tell me or else your woman gets harpooned like a plank of plywood!” Minerva raged as her man began sniffling and shivering in the invisible hold Olivia seemed to have on his body. Whatever this was, whatever Olivia was managing to do, it was not important -- she had her lover on the ropes, and Minerva was always a poor sport when she didn’t have the upper hand.

“Silly, all you needed to do was ask,” Olivia smirked, taking Minerva’s chalice -- the only chalice she could be sure was not laced with something -- and took a light sip to smooth her tongue. She turned and sat on the edge of the desk, holding the cup to her chest as she arched her back. “Your Lord has become a living, breathing bomb.”

Minerva’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “What?!”

“You heard me, you insolent snipe. I poured one of my concoctions down his sniveling throat, and sent him into the lion’s den.”

“Then why is he acting like this? Is it going to go off? Are you wanting to kill us all then, like the foolish little brat you are!?”

Olivia rolled her eyes, setting the cup she had usurped down on the desk beside her seat. “Well, try to wrap your unoriginal mind around this story I’ve got for you, Minerva. You see, your man has the worst taste in women I have ever seen, and that is truly saying something. When he’s not ten feet up your viper’s skirts, he goes after me, one of the few Mage courtesans at the Ball. But that is not all -- he has also gone after one of the Senior Apothecary Mages in the Inquisition forces. We are an elite bunch, truly,” Olivia smirked, a open-mouthed grin on her lips as she shimmied her shoulders a bit. She rested her hand on the desk, anchoring her weight as she leaned back.

“So, you can imagine,” she examined her manicured nails, “I have access to some truly nasty substances. Explosives, poisons, hallucinogens…’tis a bounty. What is currently giving Lord Vincent a terrible stomach ache, however, is a personal favorite tool of mine. It is an explosive elixir with my mana signature imbued in it. With the snap of my magical fingers, I can set him off like a sparkler.”

Minerva was shaking with anger at this point. The story was as ridiculous as it was disturbing. The way Olivia seemed so cheery, so lighthearted, whilst she spoke of such things. It made her feel sick. Turns out, being a manipulative and greedy Tempest mistress was a shallow pool of creativity in comparison to a Mage harlot turned Inquisition official.

Olivia sucked on her teeth, staring back at her. “Well, Minerva? What is it to be?”

Her adversary rolled her shoulders, stepping back and looking at Lord Vincent once more, the way he was shaking in his rigid position. The way beads of sweat began to fall down his temples, his mask skewed in its fit. She began to breathe deeply, panic setting into her bloodstream, paired with the adrenaline that also flowed freely. Even in his unbelievably bad luck, Vincent was her lover, and she would not have put in this much effort to neutralize Olivia or any woman after him if he was merely a casual bond. He had made a fool of her, even in her reputable talents.

Lowering her chin, looking away from Olivia, Minerva exhaled.

“What do you want, Olivia? For me to release the Seeker and send you on your merry way?”

Olivia turned and looked back at Cassandra, eyeing her for the longest she had the entire time in being there. She pursed her lips, and returned her eyes to Minerva’s direction.

“Yes, and I also want the money you have extorted from the Inquisition for your underground dealings. ‘Tis why I am here, you see. Your lover, and I suspect you as well, have made fools of yourselves. The Inquisition wishes to wash their hands of you and leave your pitiful lives intact. Do that, and I will remove myself from your company, and he will be spared.”

Minerva turned her head and eyed her from the side. So, then, they had been found out. The trail she thought had been swept aside was the true reason for all this mess.

“You have no proof of such a claim,” she growled.

“I do, actually. Quite an abundance of it. You can feel free to inquire via letter to the Ambassador’s office if you feel so inclined, but as for now, my business must be resolved now.”

“We have no such amounts of funds at our disposal now,” Minerva faced her head on, arms folded.

“That is a lie. And if you do not have it physically with you, you can sign off the transference and hand me the credit. You and I are both familiar with payment options, Minerva, do not play me for a fool.”

Minerva groaned, her hands going up in the air as she relented.

“Fine, you insect. I will give you what you want. Just release my man from your sorcery, or else.”

Olivia chuckled, shaking her head. “Release my woman from your bandit’s knot, or else. I think I am the one who has the ability to make such a threat, not you.”

While this toe-to-toe dance had been going on, Cassandra had gotten almost to the end of the process of cutting herself free. She kept herself still though, not wanting to draw attention to herself. As she looked up, she spotted a shifting figure in the narrow angle she could see out onto the balcony. It was a dark figure, dressed ambiguously, and the lack of visibility left her unable to ascertain whether or not it was one of their people, or Minerva’s.

Then, she saw the fleeting tone of the leather on their boot rim -- it was torn, weathered, and lighter than the official hide on Inquisition personnel. Cassandra’s heart sank, wondering why someone was looming in the balcony, taking cover behind the tapestries draped around the outside.

The figure did not leave much time to wonder, for in a moment, Cassandra saw an arrow being pulled into position to be launched from a bow. The direction was not for any of Minerva’s men -- no, this was for Olivia, and it was going to hit her at point-blank range.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Minerva remarked, seeming to slow down the pace of her interaction. As if she knew something was about to reclaim the arena for her.

Olivia glared at her, wondering what it was that had calmed her. In her control of Vincent’s body, her senses were being used up, and she hadn’t the acute precision of picking up on certain sounds or movements whilst she was preoccupied with his suspended animation. For as lethal and cunning as she was, Minerva had found a blind spot.

Cassandra took a breath. Without her sword, and without someone else there to apprehend the archer in time from what she could see, that left her with only one option. With her strength, she ripped the remaining strand of hide binding her hands together. Then, leaping forward, and surprising everyone as they all turned to watch her, she went for Olivia as she sat on the table. Olivia whipped around to watch her, but it was all going to fast for her to react in a more sophisticated way. As if in the span of a second, the sequence of unfortunate events unfolded: the archer, having believed he secured his shot, released the arrow. But, before it could find its ideal target, Cassandra had pushed Olivia by the shoulders down over the desk on her back, covering her from the front and taking her place in the arrow’s path. The air was pushed out of Olivia’s lungs, and it sounded as though she had tried to say her lover’s name, but no one could ever know for sure.

Everything became like a dream -- a terrifying, unwanted and spiteful dream that made her infamously torturous nightmares fade away. when from above where she was pushed, she watched as her lover got shot with an arrow into the underside of her ribs.

Suddenly, then, her anger set itself on fire in self-sacrifice.

Olivia’s eyes widened, and an immediate, small tear released itself from the other corner of one of them. Her hands, which had instinctively gripped onto Cassandra’s breastplate, clutched tighter as she felt Cassandra lurch forward. Her mouth was agape as she tried to regain air in her chest. In return, Cassandra cried in willful pain, a deep, merciless release of agony as she planted both hands on the desk on either side of Olivia’s shoulders. Olivia was mortified -- Cassandra had become her shield, and she had taken a blow that was meant for her. It was one of the few scenarios where, even just imagining it, made her want to break down.

But this was no imagination.

Her focus turned away from her puppet across the vast-feeling suite which had become a battlefield to her senses, and Vincent was released at once to collapse on the floor, a helpless pile of cowardly crying.

From across the room, she could hear a crashing sound, but it echoed whilst her mind became consumed with what was directly in front of her. The crashing was the door being kicked open, this time no knock would suffice. Waiting on the other side, Theia, the Inquisitor herself, and Vivienne stood side by side, with several armed troops behind them. The time for covert action was over -- reinforcement in the Inquisition meant reinforcement on all sides.

“Knock knock,” Theia growled, holding her staff at her side. She sent out a hand in front of her, plasting the first mercenary she could see with ice, sending him flying to the opposite wall.

Vivienne snickered, strutting inside ahead of the Herald, her staff oscillating with fire.

“Minerva, someone has informed me that you have not been playing nice,” she hissed with a debonair charm, her Orlesian Henin adding to her towering stature amongst feeble men. Without fuss, she rotated her staff and sent dual fire shots to two more men, sending them tumbling to the floor. She was leveling them like a woodsman would pesky underbrush on a walking trail.

Whilst Vivienne and Theia made their entrance, their troops entered along the sides of the room, overtaking the room for the Inquisition’s side.

Minerva growled. “Your tyranny ends tonight!” she then lunged and grabbed at one of her men’s daggers, unsheathing it from his belt holder and holding it up over her shoulder as she was about to throw it in Vivienne’s way.

Theia rolled her eyes as Minerva showed no sign of surrender yet. Holding her staff out in front of her at an angle, she cast a shield over Vivienne -- something done not because Vivienne wasn’t capable of it herself, but out of manners. This fight was not a match for their prowess, and at this point, any maneuver was done for the fun of it. Who honestly thought a dagger would be enough when facing two of the most powerful Mages in Thedas? Apparently, this bitch.

The dagger caught in the shield and held itself suspended in the air, just enough for Theia to send another shock of ice to it. Freezing it over, the metal began to crack. Her release of the shield send it promptly to the floor, landed and sliding beside Lord Vincent as he quivered all over himself.

“Minerva, darling, throwing toothpicks sharpened between your teeth gets you nowhere.” Vivienne then stretched her hands, auras of fire energy forming around them. “Now, let us try this again. Show me the money, and let our friends go.” Theia stepped closer, arriving at Vivienne’s side as they stood in unison, an infallible defense in the face of Minerva’s temper.

All the while, behind Minerva and in the far corner of the room, Olivia was holding onto Cassandra’s face as she kept eye contact with her -- or tried to, anyway. Cassandra herself had not moved from her position over Olivia’s body, but had been propped up a bit as Olivia sat up more to take on her weight.

“Cassandra, it’s alright,” she said fast, having ripped the gag off of her mouth with her hand heated with burning fire just enough to scortch through the belt. Stroking her cheek and feeling the sweat on her skin start to show. The arrow had gone deep from what she could see, the freak aim of hitting a weak spot in her formal armor. Olivia was trying not to panic, her need to remain steady for her woman prevailing on her list of priorities.

Cassandra closed her eyes, trying her best to stay centered. She had withstood horrible injuries in the past, but the pain of an arrow in her left ribs was just like every pain -- erasing of all precedent in favor of its ultimate potency. There was also the matter of what the arrow had managed to hit, and feeling her chest tense and breathing shallow, she feared for her lung or her heart.

She tried to speak, but all she could think of was feeling Olivia’s legs tighten around her sides in an effort to hold her up. Olivia’s strength became necessary with every passing moment and breath she managed to steal. The white hot pain in her chest had spread to most of her upper body as her system went into shock, the warmth of blood soaking into her underlayer adding to the overstimulation of her senses.

Her vision went in and out of focus, but never truly lost sight or sensation of Olivia’s existence.

“Oliv--”

“No, no no no,” Olivia shook her head, “shh, do not worry. I’ve got you.” It terrified her, seeing that when Cassandra opened her eyes to look back at her, they were focusing in and out. Seeing the fleeting glaze in them, the shine oscillating between vital and not, Olivia let out a light whimper.

“Cassandra, stay with me, please. Please don’t go. You’re supposed to be here with me, remember? You have to. Remember what I said? We aren’t allowed to go without the other’s permission. I’m not going, and you’re not going. Please, please, do not go without me. That is…t-that is an o-o-rder.”

While the world had seemed to disappear around Olivia as she knew it, Minerva and her men had refused to give in. In fact, swords had been unsheathed, and now there was a full-scale skirmish unfolding. Vivienne and Theia were unamused in their facial expressions, taking it as an opportunity for exercise. The Inquisition troops were making quick work of their enemies. Through the fray, Theia caught a glimpse of Cassandra, hunched over Olivia and with an arrow sticking out of her side. Her animosity for the situation grew tenfold, and she started unleashing fatal shots.

It took everything within her to spare Minerva and her ridiculous lover from her wrath.

“Olivia!” Theia screamed, trying to get her attention as she fought.

But, there was no use.

Olivia remained only affording attention for Cassandra as the she continued to breath, remaining committed to staying conscious as if she had the power to decide. “Olivia,” she breathed. her head leaning into her. Olivia put her forehead to hers, one of her hands going up into her hair.

“Just a moment longer, okay? Theia’s here, it’s going to be okay. We’re going to take care of you.”

“I h-have to…”

“No, please, you don’t have to do anything. Just stay. Stay with me here,” she cooed rapidly, begging like she had never known an ounce of pride in her life.

“F-forgive…me” Cassandra’s labored breathing was tiring her, and her vision began to blur the sight of Olivia’s gold hair and complexion. It all looked like a glittering fantasy of watercolors and lines. She knew this was shock, she knew what this felt like. But, like everyone fears time after time in a life as a warrior, she wondered if this was the moment when she would slip into unconsciousness and never return.

“Cassandra, please, I beg of you...” Olivia closed her eyes with pressure, two more tears releasing from them as she held her face to hers.

Cassandra’s weight was growing heavier onto her, and she could feel the lack of strength seeping from her. The room, the room that felt so far away, sounded quieter than it had been -- the voices and clashing of swords having fallen away. Olivia couldn’t be bothered to know why. This was her nightmare, after all. The one she had warned Cassandra about fearing since the day she realized her love for her: watching her be seriously wounded and being helpless. Olivia was plunged into the depth of her demons as a woman who stood to lose so much and felt ultimately inadequate in protecting it.

Her legs tightened and tightened incrementally as Cassandra began to give in, supporting her.

“Olivia,” Cassandra’s eyes opened again, seeming to steal one wild moment of cognition. “Not even...d-death…” she reached her hand to the crook of Olivia’s neck and jawline, using the remaining strength in her muscled to hold it there.

Olivia didn’t need her to say the full phrase. She knew. She knew because they wrote it to each other with ink in their letters.

_Not even death can keep me from finding my way back to you._

And then, as quick as it had shown, the vitality was gone. The breath Olivia had held remained tight in her throat as she watched Cassandra close her eyes and go finally limp.

“No, no, no,” Olivia cradled her lover’s head against her neck. “No, Cassandra, come back. C-come back, please!”

A moment, a horrible, agonizing moment, wherein she felt her world come crashing down around her. The only scrap of anything she had left -- the scrap she always could depend on when such catastrophes were unfolding -- came to her mind like a carnal, animalistic instinct.

Her magic intertwined with the power of her devastation. She leaned back, taking on Cassandra’s deadweight, one hand positioning itself on the desk. The hand popped and crackled with sinister energy, and fire spread its limbs from it to the back corner, across the desk and up into the walls and corner of the ceiling, engulfing the column, bookshelf, and hanging painting. Olivia’s eyes seemed to dance with flame in them, as if windows into hell itself. She grit her teeth, acidic and bitter spit erupting from her mouth as she cried one, solemn name she trusted before she would ever think to ask for the Maker’s intervention.

"THEIA!"


	7. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra has gambled with her life, and now she must experience the consequences of tempting its hold. She receives a visit from a certain person of her past -- or an impression of them -- and it tests her fortuity. Meanwhile, Olivia unleashes herself in the mortal world, showing just who she can be when you take from her that which she refuses to let go.

There was so much pain. So much, it felt as though death would surely be more painless than this. No other senses dared challenge its supremacy. It felt like this for as long as her memory managed to record. Then, it seemed to become her new stasis – was this what it was like to die? Endless, numbing agony? The Maker had a way with making processes of life and death more convoluted than human understanding could interpret.

Everything was dark, dull, and spacious. She had expected the Fade to be similar to how she experienced it at the Inquisitor’s side – she had not the expansive knowledge of just how dynamic it could be that her Mage counterparts knew.

Colors, then. Red, purple, and blue, like the hues that went into blood’s coloration. It was all amorphous, blurring into one another like a messy pool of watercolor. Cassandra hadn’t the sense to narrate for herself what this all felt like, but she could feel her mind start to sharpen in its expression. Words, one at a time. Then, feelings in reaction – loss, sadness, regret.

It all silenced itself again at the sound of an echoing voice – a man’s voice, as if muffled through the adjoined wall between two rooms. She wanted to go towards it, having a warm sensation paired with its sound. There as no body to touch or move, just what she perceived to guide her in this space and time.

Then, as if a vacuum effect went into motion, she felt a rush of energy consume her. It all gathered behind her eyes, and at once, her eyelids shot open. When they did, her slightly distorted vision gave way to the sight of a tall, carved ceiling, Orleisian in décor style. Air reached into her chest and she felt the sensation of breathing again.

So, was that truly it? Did she dodge death’s grip one more time?

“There you are. I thought you had wandered too far.”

Her bones quaked with adrenaline at the sound of a voice she hadn’t heard in what seemed an entire lifetime. The voice she had to sit with herself and actively try to recall, before it was lost to her forever. The voice of someone who knew her before she had even known herself for who she could be.

“A-Anthony,” she thought to herself, her throat sore and cracking with dryness that prevented her from speaking outright. She used every sore bit of energy she had to turn her head towards her left bedside.

“My little sister is not so little anymore,” he smiled. He was as she remembered him, in shreds of images and dimensions she had held onto for dear life after experiencing so much trauma. His stubble all along his jaw, his dark, curled hair tousled around his face, the majority of it tied back into a bun. He wore a dark blue tunic shirt, and similarly colored breeches, though the details of both were not fully visible to her. He sat in a chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His legs spread apart in a wide seat.

He smiled, then, his hands clasped together in a collective fist held to his chin. He peered up at her with a mix of love and admiration swirling in his dark colored eyes.

“Anthony, I f-fear,” she took a breath, her body still and feeling more like deadweight than her own, “you must be some dream.”

“And if I am? You have been having quite a few encounters with them, if I have been informed correctly.”

Cassandra could feel her heart begin to speed its pace. Seeing her brother, or a likeness of him, alive and in good spirits from the looks of it overwhelmed her. The last time she saw him was when she watched the life leave those eyes of his. It was terrible, and painful – perhaps the agony of her injury made a connection to the kind she felt as he died, and this was the inspiration for this scene.

“If you are a demon, I have nothing for you,” she exhaled stiffly, trying her hardest to maintain stoicism.

Hearing her defense, Anthony promptly chuckled, shaking his head. “Cassandra,” he tried to calm his laughter, “I do not want anything you could give, anyhow. I am not here for sucking your soul like marrow from bone.”

She felt her chest go hollow. His way with words – his metaphors – they were precisely like him. She could remember when he had made that exact comment in their childhood, undoubtedly teasing her for something as he was now.

“Does this mean I am dead?” she asked in return for his jovial attitude.

Anthony took a breath and leaned up a bit in his posture. “How very un-Nevarran of you to ask such a black-and-white question. I must say I am starting to wonder whether or not you are actually my blood family.”

“Anthony, do not dance on my nerves,” she scolded, letting her sisterly impatience come out even as her logic said this was not to be sincerely understood as an encounter with her real brother. “If I am to endure this, you will give me answers.”

“I did not say I would not,” his accent matching hers in its spirited wit, “I am just trying to convince you to calm yourself. I have already ensured that you cannot get up from your resting position so as to tackle me, or search for a weapon. You may as well have some patience.”

“Ugh,” she sighed, rolling her eyes but not keeping them off of him long. She wanted to take this in, even if it was an illusion. It had been so long since she had seen his face animated and expressive.

“Sister,” he smiled, “you have really outdone yourself this time. I have watched you risk your life and your safety on many occasions – some understandable, others, well, creative – but you really have gone outside of the proverbial box. Taking after your gallant older brother year after year.”

Cassandra’s brow furrowed. “And what is that supposed to mean? I sacrificed myself for –”

“Oh, rest assured, Cassandra, I know exactly why you did what you have done. I suppose I am just curious to know if you understand.”

“Yes, of course. I did it for someone that I love, who I would rather see live and have a chance at a full life even if it meant I did not get to experience it with her. She is the love of my life, and I would do anything to preserve her wellbeing, regardless of whether or not it makes sense or is the most pragmatic decision.”

Cassandra stopped and looked away, her eyes widening a bit in shock. That answer she just gave was not of her own volition. It felt like a trance, like she had been under the influence of something outside of herself. Such a feeling wasn’t often realized being a Seeker – and it scared her right off the bat.

Watching her, Anthony tilted his head to the side. “That was rather easy.”

“What was that? I did not mean to say that,” she said hurriedly, looking back at him, her eyes narrowing into a glare. “What did you do?”

“I merely encouraged your heart to get to the point. I know how you dread beating around the bush, after all. Now that it is all out in the open, I can say my brotherly advice and allow you to be on your way.”

“What way? Anthony, none of this makes any sen—”

“Now, now, Cassandra. Do not make me say what Father would say to an intemperate young woman with a mouth beyond her manners.”

She growled softly remembering the way the men in her family detested women with overly-opinionated sensibilities. She clenched her jaw and shook her head slightly. This was more than she bargained for when she gave into her own demise, but truth be told, after all she had been through she felt foolish for assuming such a choice would be simple. Clearly, nothing in this life or this universe was that way. Everything was a trap, a puzzle, and a headache.

“What is it you have come to say, then? Obviously, even if you are a spirit, you must have known coming to me in this way would have my attention even if I know it to be unwise.”

Antony then adjusted his seat in his chair, leaning back and onto one side with his elbow pinned between his shoulder and his armrest. He straightened out his leg diagonally to his position.

“Surely, you must have guessed that when you at last found someone who turned the world upside down for you, I would be curious to see who it was. Such people only come along about as commonly as heroes of the Age do, after all.”

“Anthony,” Cassandra groaned.

“No, no. I understand. No one wants to hear that they are intimidating and difficult in love, even someone who parades around with it like a hunting prize. But, my dearest and only sister, I must say that after taking a good, attentive look at what is inside your heart, I can see the truth. It is a beautiful truth, indeed.”

“And what truth is that, exactly? Since you seem to be more aware of what is inside my soul than I am at the moment.”

Antony paused, and chuckled a bit under his breath. “She surprised you, did she not?”

Squirming with what little strength and power she had in her body, Cassandra laid her head back a bit further into her pillow, the ache in her neck beckoning her to relax even as the conversation at hand proved anxiety-inducing. She could not believe that she would honestly be humoring a conversation such as this with what could only possibly be an apparition – such things would have never happened last year, when she was a Seeker of the Chantry, and solidified in her beliefs on such perils.

But, something about the way it felt, the way it was to be speaking to her brother after such a painful ordeal. It was…almost as if she could feel that she was being cared for.

“Yes. She did. In every way I could think of being surprised.”

Antony nodded once. “Do you believe that the Maker and the powers that be send us people to love us, Cassandra?”

“Of course I do, all things are possible by the Maker’s hand. He provides for us all.”

“Hm,” He titled his head back a bit, eyes narrowing as he watched her in her confident, almost recited response. “Then what do you think compelled his ultimate hand to guide Olivia your way?”

Cassandra stared back at him, usually one with good answers but somehow finding herself stalled. Such a question could have a vast array of answers – to comfort, to love, to provide company, to teach her compassion. To reward her for a life of steadfast piety, though she would never honestly believe in such a vain claim. Perhaps, in a more morose premise, she was sent to provide her final months in the world with some form of joy and comfort after a life of struggle.

“I…” she took a slightly labored breath, “I do not think it is my responsibility to understand.”

Anthony grinned. “You have always been a most humble servant to the Maker, sister. Even when it is politely asked that you show your teeth.” He then leaned back squarely and folded his arms, the weight of one of his boot heels clunking on the marble floor below him. “She was sent your way because you both, equally, need each other. It is not simply a matter of you needing her, or her need of you. You both have souls aching from the binds of heroism for which society may still demonize you for. You both labor with history’s gaze at your neck, and while she may risk more than you at times, and you more than her, it is all the same: heavy are the hands that wield the weapon no one else can control.”

Cassandra’s eyes softened as Antony explained the physics of her and Olivia’s relationship. The poetic despair of it moved her spirit. She was always a weak person when it came to tragedy and romance, but now those elements had taken a hold of her own life, and she did not know whether that made them more potent or disenchanting.

Her brother took a breath, signaling a shift in his words. “That is why I am profoundly sore about you acting as if she is not your equal and getting yourself into trouble like this.”

“We as humans want to protect who we love most. I am not ashamed for loving her.”

“No, and I am not insinuating that you should. I am referring to the risk you take when you do not trust her to protect herself. What is the first lesson I taught you when we first began sword sparring?”

Cassandra’s breath halted, and she felt her throat tighten with emotion. The invocation of their youth made the hallucination she was suspecting this to be all the more heart-wrenching to experience. She felt a slight ebb of tears form in her eyes, and she bit her lip. Now was not the time to give into such dreams.

“You said, ‘never make the same move twice.’ And then you proceeded to jab me twice in the side after I failed to block you.”

Anthony smirked. “I never said I was an infallible teacher. But, I said that to you, and I meant it. Making the same move twice makes you rigid, unwavering in your technique. You must be malleable and collaborative with the situation at hand. If the move you make serves its purpose, you need only perform it once. Your presence against Olivia’s wishes made her more rigid in the possibilities of her mission. You took options from her.”

Cassandra’s tears began to wane as she was being admonished, her ego flaring with sensitivity.

“You think I do not know my mistakes? I did not need this dream in order to be made aware. I am more than capable of evaluating and knowing when I have made a miscalculation in my behavior, and I fully intend on…”

She stopped herself. Her assumption that she would get the chance to redeem herself was a habitual resilience, but she had to admit to herself that it may never be possible. This could be death, a passing interlude in the Fade before she moved on with her spirit. There may be no point in wishing to make up for her mistakes in her mortal life.

Anthony watched as she stopped herself from hoping, and he raised a brow, his lips parting and exposing a soft grin.

“Cassandra. The Maker is not done with your life yet. You know, when I passed on, I wished for the same chance as you do now: to come back, make everything right, especially by you. But, the powers that be wished me to move on. It was my time. But, for you, my dear sister, this world cannot dare to part with you.”

Cassandra’s chest tensed, feeling the location of her wound ache exponentially more. “Then…I am to be kept alive?”

“Yes. I warn you – do not tempt that fortune too often every day, alright? If you can manage.”

“I will try,” she said skeptically, “but such warnings almost always preclude more danger.”

Anthony rubbed the back of his neck, nodding in concession. He then rose to his feet, the broadness of his shoulders towering over his incapacitated sibling on her recovery bed. He approached her, and took hold of her resting hand at her side. His touch, the callouses on his fingers and palm – it was all familiar like a ghost that haunted her for longer than she could remember.

“Take care of yourself, my sister. You have so much love awaiting you when your time comes, but for now, that love wishes you to remain. The spirit world does not turn a blind eye to the threat of Mages who will undoubtedly go hunting for their slain lovers through the Fade should we keep them from who they want most.”

Cassandra felt a pang of curiosity – the idea of Olivia ripping herself through the Fade in some way to find her, to drag her spirit back to her. It made all the times she promised Cassandra that not even death could be the end of their love for her all the more real and honest. It was tragic, and it meant the world to her.

“Goodbye, Anthony – or, whoever, whatever, you are. I suppose I am thankful for this.”

“Good, because I have the most demanding schedule. I shall see myself out of this Orleisian puzzle box. You pick the worst venues for your mortal demises, you know.”

Cassandra smirked, a viscerally endeared response to the familiar, dry humor her brother was infamous for having. She watched as he made his way to the door, his stature becoming less and less visible as her gaze could not follow him. 

“Oh, my sister. I almost forgot,” he stopped in his tracks and turned to her. “Tell Olivia that her father says he is proud beyond measure of her. He also advised me to tell you that if you hurt her, he will show you the one caveat to his pacifist philosophy.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed, but her heart ached in sympathy for Olivia even though she was not there. How strange it was, the complexity of this hallucination: not only seeing her brother, who appeared to be him with every mannerism and turn of phrase. Then, Olivia’s father? But where was he, and why wasn’t he here to say it himself if this Fade illusion was just that?

How did any of this add up?

Anthony smirked. “Make with that what you will. I can see you becoming frustrated, so I will take my leave. Farewell, Cassandra. The worlds between us have never seen a prouder brother than I.”

There was so much she wanted to ask of him, some of which didn’t even make sense to her. She wanted to know if the world would survive, if Corypheus’s siege would be a success and the entire fabric of life as she knew it would come undone. She wanted to know if her fight was the good fight, if she was doing the right thing. She had never found anyone she trusted enough to ask such questions, and even now she chastised herself for wanting to ask him.

And just like that, the tears returned, and they blurred her vision so that only the sound of his withdrawal, with the door opening and shutting, could be heard. In the silence, she waited – waited for the relief, whatever it was. She wanted to be released from this poignant limbo. After several moments passed, she found her emotions were not providing her an escape. She would have to lament in this position, and really let it in. Such things – such breaks in discipline – were not common for her.

She cried in her seclusion of this dream, placing a hand to her face, realizing she had regained mobility enough to soothe herself.

This life was so hard.

\--

The fray that unfolded when Theia and Vivienne at last were able to rescue Olivia and Cassandra was violent, and far beyond what Josephine had cautioned against when she had originally contrived their mission. Once troops had taken hold of the Seeker’s limp body and rushed her down the hall, one calling for a Healer from their own ranks to find their way into the Estate at once, that left Olivia alone with Vivienne and Theia to flank her should she lose control. And she did, in the most terrifying way.

First, Theia had to restrain her from attacking Minerva who had been arrested and held off in the corner whilst people filed out after Cassandra. Theia couldn’t remember if she had ever had to do so for Olivia before this – Veronica, yes. Roslyn, yes. Naomi had tantrums too, but never to unleash pain on another. Olivia was a first. She had always been the one to calm others down, be the soft place to land after they had their meltdowns.

The Inquisitor would lament later about how, more than any of them, Olivia proved to be the most terrifying to confine with her own body. The way her magic felt in concert with Theia’s – ravenous, unending in its terrible need to inflict harm. It took everything in the Inquisitor’s willpower for her own magic to not want to collude with it and set the whole place up in smoke. She had known the anger in her other friends’ bodies, anger that was selfish, vulnerable, and aimless. But Olivia’s, Olivia’s was focused, righteous, and persuasive. It had reasoning that disturbed her, because it was paired with a most carnal sense of gratification.

As for the exterior world, there was of course the fire that Olivia had managed to spark before being contained. Vivienne made quick work of it, though some damage had been done. A dispel maneuver spared the entire Manor from being engulfed.

Then, trying to get her from one side of the Guest wing to the other where her quarters were, Theia carried her mostly. Arms tightly wound around Olivia’s sides as she wrestled and fought back, her maniacal yelling and screaming making Theia wonder if she would be able to hear normally after this. She tried her best to contain Olivia’s hands, the hands that if freed could cast and sent fire bombs if she wished. She could feel burning whenever Olivia’s grip found a part of her friend’s body to punch or grasp. Eventually, they were able to make their way down the hall, Olivia’s protests sending haunting echoes of rage down either way.

Theia and Vivienne’s magic could feel the stirring of people nearby in the Manor, undoubtedly from hearing the shrieking and cursing traveling from the corridor down to the main Ballroom wing. Who wouldn’t pay attention to such wailing:

“I will destroy you! I will burn your bones before your flesh! I will obliterate every ounce of blood in your veins!”

“Theia, let me go! Let me have my justice! I want to watch them suffer!”

“Release me! I must save her! I have to save her!”

“When I find every single one of you I will rip your limbs from your body like flower petals and you will see me smile when the life is released from your eyes!”

These threats and promises would haunt Theia, and even Vivienne in a more discrete way, for a long time – no one ever forgets witnessing one of their closest friends fall apart and lose everything about their character and personality that made them remarkable. In this moment, the ounces of happiness, compassion, and kindness had bled out of Olivia’s soul. In their place was a furious, unending intemperance with a thirst for blood.

After what felt like a miserable eternity, Theia had returned Olivia to her suite. There, Josephine had been waiting, and rushed to the door to help guide them to her bed. Olivia had waned in her convulsive thrashing, but she was still defensive like a cornered animal.

As soon as the door was shut behind them, Josephine turned and faced her head on, Theia still holding onto Olivia from behind. Instead of shying away or panicking, the Ambassador reached and put her hands on Olivia’s face, cusping her rapidly shifting gaze and focusing it on her own.

Olivia breathed heavily as she was stilled, her jaw clenched.

“Olivia, come back to us, please. It is alright, just come back. We have you safe, Cassandra is safe, just take a breath and remember who you are,” Josephine cooed, her warm and understated tone betraying the violence in the air. Theia held onto Olivia’s rigid body for dear life, mouth to Olivia’s ear as she watched Josephine use the same tactical language she did whenever Theia had a stress episode. She hoped it would work on Olivia, but to be fair, not even Theia had been experimented on with it using this sort of scenario. She wondered if it would work if the roles were reversed and she stood to lose Josephine.

Olivia, meanwhile, continued to growl. Her eyes were illuminated with flickering sparks of firelight. Josephine remained undaunted, though, and held her face close to her lover’s friend.

“Olivia, Cassandra wants you to remain calm. We want you to remain calm. Remember who you are, remember who you are before all this. It is warm in this room, no? There is a fire already, you do not need to provide one. You can be still. It is alright. This gown, it feels tight, no? We can get you out of it. Remember how tight it feels, how you feel so much more comfortable in your cotton dresses?”

Theia held her breath, but when she felt Olivia’s grip start to loosen, she began to feel hope. Josephine did as well, as slowly the inflamed light in Olivia’s eyes began to flicker lower and lower. Feeling Josephine’s hands on her face, the warmth and care in them. She took a breath, and then, the tears erupted.

“G-get me out of this, please!” she cried, eyes closing and she began to sob. “Please! Get me out of this!”

Her hands began to aimlessly pull and rip at parts of her gown. Theia reached and took hold of her hands again, interlocking her fingers with hers. “We will, Olivia, just hold tight, okay? We’re going to get this off you.”

\--

After undressing, Olivia elected to take a small dosage of a sedative. Theia remained a loyal guardian in the room, whilst Josephine seated herself right beside her as she laid in her bed on her side. This would be a temporary lull in her reaction, and she knew it – but Olivia also knew her prowess and the danger she posed if she were to remain violent. Mages could not simply exist anywhere with people and not be painfully aware of the threat they posed to innocent life. The last thing she needed, the last thing Mages needed, was another story of a violent massacre or destruction of a family home in the Capitol.

She fluxed in and out of a light sleep, to the point where the aspects she had become familiar with in the Fade began to project like light through windows into the real world. It was a strange feeling, but she did not feel endangered. The feeling of Josephine’s hand on hers, constant and comforting, kept her feeling one concrete connection.

Hours passed, whilst Cassandra was operated on in another spare guest suite that had been cleared out. Surely, anyone would understand the need to save the life of one of the Heroes of Orlais, and if not, well they could shove it.

As the sedative dosage began to wear off, Olivia’s eyes began to flicker open. Her body felt like am emptied-out vessel, as if her soul had even left her to fend for herself. The magic in her core was looming, waiting for the spark to light a fire again. She remained still as she came back to a more steady consciousness, feeling Theia’s energy as she paced in front of the door across the room. Then, of course, there was Josephine’s hand. Her hazel eyes flickered over to her bedside companion, the Ambassador who hadn’t even changed out of her formal gown, resting her eyes as she leaned back in her seat.

Feeling eyes on her though, Josephine opened her own, and turned to see Olivia awake. She smiled softly.

“Hello, Olivia,” she whispered, not wanting to concern Theia as she seemed to be distracted with worry enough as it was.

Olivia blinked slowly, her face remaining stoic. “Hello,” she breathed.

Josephine’s eyes narrowed with care, and she leaned forward, now taking Olivia’s hand in both of hers. “Is there anything you need?”

“I…” Olivia’s throat felt dry and unforgiving. “Is there…any word?”

Josephine’s heart sank, and she tried hard not to lose all of the cheerfulness in her demeanor for Olivia’s sake. She pursed her lips slightly. “No, not since an hour ago. They have all Healers on hand for her, even the Abernathy’s hand loaned their personal staff. We will know as soon as they can spare someone to visit us.”

Olivia’s eyes glazed a bit. “But she’s…she’s…”

“My dear, nothing is set in stone until the last wind blows. Just remain present, and keep breathing.” Josephine’s Antivan accent was like warm tea on the ears, and even as Olivia was plunged in the depths of despair, she could feel the potency of her compassion. Theia was a lucky woman.

“T-thank you, Josephine. I am sure I…wasn’t the easiest to handle.”

Josephine smirked, rubbing the back of Olivia’s hand with her thumb. “Have you met your friend, my dear?”

Olivia blinked and managed a faint grin on one side of her mouth. “Yes, unfortunately.”

“It is the mark of all great women, I am afraid.”

Olivia adjusted her chin, feeling the fabric of her cotton night dress on her shoulder. “Josephine…I, I don’t know what I am going to do…”

“Olivia, you do not need to know that in this moment. The present moment is all you need concern yourself with.”

“But…why? Why did she…” Olivia then bit her lip, turning her gaze up to the ceiling as she pictured Cassandra’s face, her face when she was struck with the arrow. She knew then that she could not speak all the words she wanted to say, for they would only leave her alone with the imagery of it all, and it would only make her fall apart again.

Josephine watched her contain herself, and she felt the wave of empathy in her heart crash over her. She waited a moment, allowing Olivia to console herself, before she reconvened the conversation.

“Olivia, did Theia ever tell you about the time she came back from being severely wounded in Emprise du Lion?”

Hearing her question, and the brevity of it, Olivia tilted her head back towards the Ambassador, one brow furrowed. “No, I do not think so.”

Josephine took a breath, and managed a grin. “She was struck by an assassin out in the field, and had to be returned to Skyhold. She had tried to maintain her presence out on the front but she was not recovering, and by the time she had made her return she was infected and slowly bleeding out to death. When she arrived, I had no warning, and I witnessed it all as she was operated on by our Healers for hours. I paced the floor whilst she was unconscious in recovery. She was sleeping for days, and I never left the room. I had food brought to me by Leliana, who had to remind me to nourish myself. All the while I could only think of the pain that would have enveloped me if I had lost her. She and I had only been involved for no more than a couple of months, but in those days, I learned just how much my happiness depended upon her existence. No one could remove me from her side. No one could tell me anything about how I should have behaved, what decorum demanded of me, or my duties needed of me. For my love for her, it all became meaningless.”

As Josephine recounted her story, the sorrow of even just remembering it began to show in her eyes. Olivia could see it, and it resonated with her.

“That must have been devastating,” Olivia replied, her face softening.

Josephine blinked and collected herself. “Agh, it was not the worst thing. After all, I got to have her all to myself, and we both know what a treasure she is removed from the maddening crowd.” She took a breath as Olivia smirked, before continuing to talk. “Lady Olivia, it is not always easy, this life. But, I think you understand me more than most when I say that loving someone who is prone to acts of reckless heroism is better than being without their love when they are not busy risking their lives.”

Olivia sighed shallowly. “Yes. But now, because of that love, I may be forced to.”

“You never know, my dear. They have a most intriguing way of defying death.”

“Yes, and they take great care to test its efficacy,” Olivia groaned a bit. “She lied to me, Josephine. She lied, and now she may die of it, all to protect me. I have killed Cassandra Pentaghast, Hero of Orlais,” she lamented, shaking her head slowly. “How can I forgive myself?”

Josephine’s brow furrowed immediately. “Lady Olivia, the Seeker made her choice, and you are in no way culpable for what happened. Do not fail to respect her agency because she failed to respect yours – it only leads to more derision.”

“Then what do I do? Say ‘thank you’? Will I even get the chan—” she stopped herself again, taking a breath.

“My dear,” Josephine exhaled, “you will know in your heart what to do. Trust me when I say that, even as it seems impossible to make sense now, the moment will come when you see the truth. I implore you than when that happens, you let it convince you. Do not hide behind your pride. This life is too precious to deny yourself the love you deserve.”

Olivia looked off into the distance and closed her eyes, taking in Josephine’s advice with sincerity. She stretched her limbs a bit, feeling more sober cognition set into her body. The sedative was almost completely traceless in its effects, now, but Olivia did not feel a need for it anymore. In this space, in this moment, her body was convinced to be calm. Now, she was to wait more, for whatever it was the wind of change was willing to usher to her

\--

Several more hours passed as the Estate was now in the full depth of the dark early morning. Olivia had remained awake, not wishing to encounter her dreams, as vile as they were always for her. She laid in her bed, Josephine remaining at her side as long as she was needed. Theia fielded the one or two messages they received from the Healers down the hall.

She was alive, but barely. While she had survived the procedure to remove the arrow, the head of it was laced with a mild poison, cheaply concocted but troublesome nonetheless. They had to cleanse her tissue and that took more time they didn’t necessarily have, but once they did, she was patched up.

Now, she was sleeping, but under close observation. The following 24 hours were going to be critical. It was all up to the patient now, and her body, to find the resolve to recover and bounce back from the injury.

Theia took a moment in between being reported to and telling Olivia. Part of this was due to the fact that she felt supremely guilty for being the person to allow Cassandra to stay. If she had only chosen to adhere to Olivia’s wishes, she would have send her home, and she would never have been used as a pawn or a shield. She wanted to pair this news with an apology, and a promise to never override her authority when it was to be respected.

As she went up the steps towards Olivia’s bed, she held her hands together in front of her, and gazed attentively at both her friend and her lover. Josephine had taken to laying in bed beside Olivia, leaning upright against the ornamental head board with Olivia’s head in her lap. It was a more comfortable position for them both as the time wore on slowly. Theia couldn’t resist grinning, seeing them together and knowing Josephine to be the one person she could trust to provide the utmost solace.

“My Ladies,” she said gently, beckoning both of them to open their eyes, their faces and bodies illuminated on one side from the nearby fireplace light. Olivia scrunched her face, rubbing her forehead with her hand, whilst Olivia took in a sharp breath.

“Yes, my Love?” Josephine responded instinctively, blinking her eyes open and focusing in on her woman as she stood at the foot of the bed.

Theia lowered her chin, her gaze shifting from Josephine to Olivia, who seemed to be hanging on every word already. “The operation has concluded. She is alive, and relatively stable, but still unconscious. They are observing her closely for any disturbances or changes.”

Olivia’s chest filled with butterflies – so she had defied the grasp of death, after all. Josephine’s faith had proven vindicated.

“Can I…can I see her?” she asked immediately, leaning up and off of Josephine’s lap.

“I asked them to come back as soon as that is possible. I know it seems insensitive, Olivia, but they wish to have her environment be stable, and they overheard your…behavior, after the fight. They are taking precaution.”

Olivia sighed. So, the one time she proves herself to be a violent, wrathful mistress, she gets sequestered. Such was the treatment of Mages, even when the Circle was long dead.

“Fine, but as soon as they come, I want to be escorted to her. Not a minute later,” she warned as she laid back on the bed alongside Josephine, who in turn reached a hand and comfortingly stroked her blonde her. Her older sister instincts had kicked in full force this evening.

Theia sighed, feeling aimless in her stress. She felt as though anything she could go would never be enough.

“Olivia, I…I don’t know how to properly convey how sorry I am. I enabled this to happen. It is truly my fault, it happened on my watch.”

Olivia did not move from her spot, but merely titled her head down to look back at Theia. She couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t upset – Theia had broken her trust as much as Cassandra did. But, she knew it was with the right intentions, and they were both always and forever protective of her. Seeing the sincere agony in Theia’s eyes, as this matter was surely tearing up her conscience, Olivia knew she had to put her out of her misery. Theia did not deserve to suffer, just as she didn’t – but if she could spare her friend from what was inescapable for her, she would.

“Theia, I am not angry with you. You did what you thought was best. I forgive you and am thankful for your apology. Nothing in this world could compel me to forsake you.”

In return, Theia began to breathe rapidly, as if she were about to cry. She took a breath and steeled herself, turning her gaze away towards the fire. “Thank you, my dear friend. Your affection is something I do not deserve.”

“Of course you deserve it, silly. Do not think for a minute you don’t.”

And so, with the release of forgiveness into the air, the waiting game commenced. Josephine took a breath of relief at the conversation. Knowing that Olivia was surely cloaking her true hurt in favor of selfless acceptance, she knew – she knew Olivia had remembered who she was.


	8. Salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia is finally allowed to visit a recovering Seeker Pentaghast, although many things remain uncertain. Reckoning with the emotions that have carried her to this point for better or for worse, Olivia comes face to face with the brevity of her insecurities. Cassandra, meanwhile, awakes to the same face she had seen before slipping into darkness -- and the limitations of a recovering body. Both women seek forgiveness and honesty in the wake of so much unexpected pain.

Olivia hadn’t seen a sight like this – being escorted down a hall by several guards with the understanding that she was the liability – since her days in the Circle. It brought back memories to be sure, but she wished that memory lane could have found some other way to be induced. Still, she was finally being allowed to see her woman after hours and hours of languishing over whether it would be possible. She could deal with the reminiscence.

Their presence also meant she had to dress herself; whereas she would have been comfortable in a simple night dress with nothing underneath to see the woman who knew every inch of what she looked like underneath the light linen, she had to fit into a simple resting gown. The rest of her appearance was lackluster in comparison to her evening ensemble. Her hair was combed through with nothing but her fingers, and her makeup had been rubbed off, the rouge lightly pink and faded on her tired face, her lips pale. Her eyes were sore and still red from the combination of unrelenting crying and sleeplessness.

She looked like she had been through hell. In fact, she looked as if she had been through it, became its embodiment, and then lived to tell the tale.

Eventually they made it to the wing they had occupied for Cassandra. One of the guards knocked on the door and it was opened without much delay. Behind the door, a Healer was awaiting them, and looked rather timid in expectation of what had arrived. Had Olivia really struck the fear of the Maker’s wrath into an entire Manor of people? Perhaps. She didn’t seem all-to-concerned about her reputation, though, as they ushered her in. Her eyes scanned for her target and found it – a bed with linens draped over, clean and fresh replacements for the ones that had been blooded and used during surgery. Cassandra’s body lay straight and quiet on one side of the bed, a pillow propping her head and chest up as she looked peaceful. Her face and shoulders were cleaned and dry, looking like porcelain. Around her upper body was a bandage in place of a smallclothes top, and everything was kept clear of her chest and torso. Her arms lay at her sides above the blanket that only went high enough to cover her bare stomach.

Olivia’s heart stopped beating. She looked as if she could just as easily have been embalmed as left to recover. The only parts of her that gave her hope was the color in her skin, and the shallow rise and fall she could see of her breathing. 

She turned and eyed the guards who were watching her every move, anticipating something but unsure of what exactly. She pursed her lips, feeling cold about the way they were looking at her as if she were incapable of controlling herself.

“Leave us.” She commanded solemnly. Immediately, they all turned and looked at one another, exchanging anxious glances.

“Did you hear me? I said leave us. I have training in healing and will call if assistance is required.”

At last, one of them got the courage to face her and respond. “Yes, my Lady.”

They then ushered themselves out. Even the Healers that had been stationed in the room for hours wasted no time. Something told her they would enjoy the dismissal, and maybe have time to rest and eat after agonizing for hours keeping Cassandra cared for. When the large door finally shut behind her for good, she turned and looked back at the bed. Her chest deflated, and she felt the ache of her sorrow arise from her gut again. Alone with her, she could finally show the weakness of her feelings.

At last she was able to approach her woman in her resting place, and she did so quietly. When she arrived at the side of her bed, she stood still. The room was as quiet as the grave Olivia always imagined would be awaiting her for her reckless ways.

“Hello, my Love,” she cooed, though no response was expected. “You…you look beautiful…t-tonight,” she felt the tears already welling, and her eyelashes fluttered. Her gaze went to the floor as she bit her lip, trying her best to compose herself. A swift inhale of air into her chest steadied her, though her vision had grown blurry.

After a moment, she raised her chin, and returned her gaze to what was in front of her, motionless.

“I am so angry with you, Cassandra Pentaghast,” she finally released herself from the confines of sense, talking to her unconscious lover like she could sit up and talk back. “You lied to me. You watched me leave and you promised me. You went behind my back, and you did something foolish. Who…w-wh-o told you that your life was j-just yours to gamble, huh?”

Quiet nothingness. Olivia’s words hung in the air like a poem without an audience.

“It makes no sense for someone to be angry at a dead person. I know you Nevarrans would say otherwise, but, for once I can be the daft Orleisian and say things like that cannot be. You have to wake up, you have t-to…” she took a breath, rolling her shoulders back. “I know you want to argue with me. I k-know you d-do.”

Another pause, and unforgiving silence. Cassandra’s breathing remained at its undisturbed, slow tempo.

“You play coy,” Olivia smirked bittersweetly, “but I know what will spur your temper.”

She gathered her gown skirt and stepped forward, sitting herself on the side of the bed, just enough to be close to her but not to disturb her careful placement. She kept her hands to her lap, unwilling to make anything hurt or move for her woman whilst she rested. Wherever her mind was, her body was here.

“Mages deserve unabashed freedoms to kill and steal whatever they want. It is reparations for their mistreatment. They should have impunity!” she said in a falsely confident tone, mocking Cassandra’s ideology. “I do not care what threatening forces magic has for ungifted people, that is not our problem!”

Nothing.

Olivia waited, her lips parted in anticipation. The tears continued to well in her eyes, though they had stilled enough whilst she had fooled herself into playing the part of the spoiled Mage. Suddenly, her act had become a way of staving off her emotional breakdown. If she could fool herself into thinking this was an effective strategy for bringing her back to her, she would do it, and do it well. Her private school training in the performing arts would prove useful after all.

“Okay, perhaps that is a little outlandish. You are not convinced that I actually believe that. Let me see…” she took a breath and looked off into space, an air of whimsy arising in her voice as she further deluded herself. “It is my astute belief that the Chantry and Monarchy should be disbanded and that we should descend into collaborative anarchy. Communities can manage their own lands and people and no central source of power is needed. Think me wrong? Surely, no example exists of capable governance.”

Olivia stared at her, the way her eyelids weren’t fluttering. They always fluttered when Cassandra slept. She knew because she had seen them, night after night, when her own nightmares had stolen her own rest. Watching Cassandra sleep was replenishing enough, the way she looked so peaceful. Now, she looked dormant like the sky after a storm, mourning for the calmness that it had fought for.

Olivia hung her head, looking down at her helpless hands as they rest on her lap. One stray tear fell and landed on her arm.

“Argue with me, Cassandra. Prove me wrong. Prove me right. Anything…I’m not picky.”

Moments passed with no talk back. Olivia closed her eyes and kept still, sitting tall as she lamented the circumstance she had found herself in. The fire crackling in the hearth of the suite was the only sound to speak of. In the suspended time, Olivia felt like she had become one with her past, present, and future: the bare bones of her existence. In her joyous disposition, she was constantly grieving, for what she had never got to be, for the Father she lost, for the safety she never got to take for granted. Now, it was for Cassandra as her life hung in the balance.

“Cassandra,” she muttered at last, “I am sorry for begging you to stay. I know that was possibly the worst thing I could have done, make you feel like it was your choice to leave me here. It was not your choice. It was not my Father’s choice, either. I need to stop blaming others for things they cannot control. I…” she chuckled humorlessly, wiping her face with her wrist, “I need to stop so many things. I need to stop distrusting those who do not give me a reason to. I need to stop denying others’ love and care for me. I need to stop believing I am not worthy of such things.”

She gained an ounce of boldness, and reached her left hand to hold Cassandra’s, feeling no grip or clutch in return. She held it gently, stroking the side of her thumb with her own.

“You were foolish, but you were brave. You sacrificed yourself for me. People dream of finding someone who would be so selfless in their love. You know, back in the Circle, when the younger girls would huddle around in the study and read fairytales to each other, they would talk about how much they’d want someone to rescue them from the Tower and ride away with them forever. They wanted handsome Knights to whisk them away to a new life…”

She stopped and took a breath, a glimmer in her eyes arising from envisioning a different time in her life where, oddly, things felt so much more understandable.

“I would always warn them that such things did not exist. No one was going to rescue us – the Knights were not out there in the vast beyond. They were there, guarding our doorways, escorting us like prized livestock, threatening us if we were insubordinate. Even if it meant simply asking for a second serving of supper. There were no heroes to me, to us. If we were to be rescued, it would have to be by each other. That is why when Veronica came to me and asked me to run off with them during the chaos, I said yes. I was going to rescue myself. I used to think that made me stronger, but now…now I know I was willing to do so because I thought I was the only person in the world I believed disposable.”

She breathed through her nose, a stiff sniffle sounding off from it. She had never told this story this way before – it had bled through in her actions and choices, but she had never allowed herself to sit and testify to the full, sorrowful truth of what propelled her survival. She had remained alive because those around her protected her and had grown attached to the job of guarding her life, because otherwise she would throw herself into the direct line of fire without hesitation. Olivia didn’t value her life like she should, and while Cassandra’s choice was dishonest and misguided, she had to admit what was rightful anger, and what was her rejection of her love due to her internalized inadequacy.

She looked up towards the window directly in front of where she sat, noticing that the blackened sky was beginning to lighten into a deep blue. Dawn was approaching, but nothing about it felt liberating.

“You do not see me as disposable. You never did. You always say that I am worth everything to you, that you will always do right by me because I am worth it,” she mumbled at last. “I need you to come back, so that I can tell you that I…I believe you. I believe you now, Cassandra. I mean it. Just, please, come back to me so I can say so to your face and not over your pyre.”

Her hand began to warm, her magic simmering in her skin. Now, love and adoration were fueling her abilities instead of rage. She could not see from her own perspective, but her complexion had begun to glow slightly. Seeing Cassandra, seeing her alive, was enough to send her body into an illuminated daze.

She closed her eyes and kept herself steady for another period of no voice, no conversation, no sound.

Then, out of thin air, a voice groaning from dull pain.

Olivia’s eyes shot open, and she immediately turned and witness Cassandra’s head tilt. Her lips parted, and her eyes began to flutter.

“Ugh, Maker,” Cassandra groaned, feeling the resonating sensitivity in her upper body. The pain of the stiches and the internal wounds of the operation. It was all a rather unwelcoming embrace.

Olivia was awe-struck, paralyzed in her observation. Her mouth made a slight “O” shape as she watched her awake, tears now streaming in freefall down her cheeks. They widened when Cassandra’s own, darker hazel irises showed themselves underneath a furrowed, strained brow.

Cassandra’s vision was blurry, the warm colors of the room giving way to shapes, lines, and textures. She blinked roughly once or twice, trying to get a clear picture of what was in front of her. Feeling a soft hand on hers, though, she had an instinctive idea that Olivia was at her side. When at last, she was able to look upon her face, tear-stained and pink in her cheeks, her honey eyes sparkling with emotion, the pain of her wound was lulled into subordination. The butterflies in her stomach took hold, and the euphoric relief knowing she was alright was all that mattered to her senses.

“Cassandra,” Olivia breathed, her voice lucid and steeped in disarmed sweetness.

In return, the Seeker’s face softened, and she tilted her chin down to look her deeply into her eyes. She inhaled, preparing to speak, the burning of her ribs providing an obstacle to the choice.

“Oliv…” she winced, closing her eyes a bit and steadying herself again. “Olivia.”

Olivia didn’t know what to do. She knew that she must have been in incredible pain, and to jump on her for a hug would surely aggravate said pain. But, everything in her wanted to be on her, inch-for-inch. She wanted to be absorbed. Her heart was racing and her breathing grew more rapid and shallow. Tears started streaming again, invigorated by the sound of her voice. She closed her eyes and started to cry, both of her hands going to one she had been holding. She lowered herself and put Cassandra’s hand to her lips, kissing the back of it deeply. Her lips lingered, feeling the slightly chilled touch of her.

Then, the hand she was worshipping opened and turned. In an aching, but persevering movement, Cassandra reached and placed it on Olivia’s soaked cheek. Her thumb slowly moved from side to side, wiping away the copious tears as she flowed. Olivia tilted her chin up to make eye contact with her again as she caressed her. Her touch, as gentle and bold as it was the first night Cassandra ever dared to do so in the study Tower.

“H-how are you feeling?” she choked out.

Cassandra grinned shallowly on the side of her mouth. “Fine. Alive,” a hoarseness in her voice.

Olivia couldn’t fight it anymore – she smiled, her dimples attracting her tears into their indentations as they fell. There were so many things she could say at once, that filled to the brim behind her tongue. But for now, she would marvel.

“I love you,” she cooed with a brittle tone.

Cassandra took a strained breath. “And I y-you. Are you alright?”

“Yes. I am fine,” Olivia took hold of Cassandra’s hand and held it as she leaned up, so that she did not have to stretch with her movement. She intertwined her fingers with hers and let them rest on the plush blanket. “You made sure of that, silly.”

The Seeker exhaled, trying her best to remain relaxed. Seeing Olivia cry was never a passive thing for her – she would always hold her, comfort her, take care of her. Now, having to remain stagnant in place and watch her was proving difficult.

“I…am sorry,” she muttered, echoing what she had tried to say when she was shot. “I was wrong.”

Olivia took a breath and tried her best to synthesize when she wanted to say. The gratitude in her soul to have Cassandra returned to her had softened all ego that survived the fight. Josephine’s advice echoed in the back of her head – when the time came to choose between pride and having the woman she loved come back to her, she knew. She knew the line she had to walk.

“Cassandra, I…I have been lecturing you in your sleep, I’m afraid. Telling you about how angry I was, how upset I am to see you like this. How much I would have wished you did differently. But then I…” she took a breath and paused, glancing down at her lap for a moment. “I will forgive you on one symbolic condition.”

Cassandra watched her as she spoke, falling in love all over again with the way she looked. Coming back to life felt like a journey and seeing her again was like coming back from a mission after weeks apart.

“Name it,” she grinned, moving her hand to Olivia’s thigh. “And this time, I mean it.”

Olivia smiled, and went on to recount all that she had said to her whilst she slept. She would not shy away from her confessions now, for she had been given a chance to be a woman of her word. In return for Cassandra’s honesty, she would give her authenticity and trust. She would mean it, irrevocably.

And in return, Cassandra would let her know just how proud her Father was of her, regardless of whether or not she believed the dream to have been real.

\--

It was the middle of the morning daylight when the door opened; it was one of the most senior Healers on staff, with two wide-eyed apprentices in toe. When they peered inside, they saw what had become of their patient and her companion after they had left them alone.

Cassandra was still laying on her back where she had been left. Only, now she had an outstretched arm around Olivia, who was curled up at her side in the middle of the large bed. She was tucked against her but not on top of her, allowing only one hand to rest horizontally across Cassandra’s stomach. Her head was lost in waves and curls of blonde hair, but her cheek was gently nestled in the crook of her lover’s shoulder. Meanwhile, the Seeker had rested her chin against her head, her hand on her side and keeping her from moving too far away.

The Healers pulled the curtains back, allowing for the day to stretch its limbs into the room. Facing the window, Olivia’s eyes crinkled with the exposure to brightness, and she groaned lightly. She rustled a bit in her position, immediately aware of her lover’s fragility and taking care not to cause her pain.

Cassandra’s eyes opened as well, but in a sharper movement, like her instincts of flight or fight had kicked in. Realizing where she was and who she was with, she exhaled, reaching her free arm up so she could rub her face. The sharp twinge of pain in her ribs as she tried, though, made her wince.

“Careful, my Lady,” the Healer walked over, her hands out so as to catch Cassandra’s incapacitated arm. “Your muscles will be sensitive, best not to tire them as they heal.”

Olivia blinked a few times as she leaned upright, reaching and guiding Cassandra’s hand that she had wrapped around her back down to rest at her side. She grinned when she saw the look of impatience in her lover’s face – a perfect addition to her already stiff morning personality. She hung back whilst the Healer made preparations to check the sutures and change the bandage, laying out the supplies on a nearby table.

“Ugh, this nonsense,” Cassandra muttered, wanting more sleep.

Olivia giggled softly, tucking her legs underneath her as she remained sitting upright. “Steady, my Love. You know they have say in whether or not you live.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes closed. Before she could give a curt response, the Healer returned and smiled. “We must prop you up so to change bandages and check the sutures, my Lady.”

“Alright,” she replied.

Olivia shook her head, offering a compassionate smile to the Healer. Then, without a word, she went into action: sliding out of bed and making her way around to help the Healer and Cassandra with the process. She reached and took hold of Cassandra’s shoulders as she was pushed up by the Healer who used the pillow as a cushioning force forward. Groaning low, Cassandra could feel every stretch and tearing muscle crick and crack with her movement, until she was upright. When she was sitting up straight as she could manage, Olivia positioned her arms around her torso to provide support for her, swinging a leg around to straddle her thighs ever-so-carefully.

Cassandra bit her lip and took a breath. The first day after an injury was always the worst.

As the Healer began to slice through the bandages, Olivia got to have the first look at the damage. It became clear why the need to change so early after the procedure was necessary; the seeping and soaking of the wound was quite the sight. Olivia did not waver, though, and she merely kept Cassandra’s focus on her whilst she was already ready to be left alone again.

“One more scar to impress women with,” Olivia teased, holding her tight between her hands.

Cassandra leaned in a bit, her face no more than several inches from hers. “Always an optimist,” she replied, her voice monotone from the lack of disposable air in her diaphragm. She took care to be stoic even as the new ointment application stung. The Healer had a careful touch, and even while she looked displeased, Cassandra appreciated it. After all, their intervention saved her life.

“It looks stable, my Lady,” the Healer said as she tended to her. “You will have substantial bruising, and it will be uncomfortable, but thankfully your lung was not fully punctured. With time and care, your prognosis is excellent.”

Olivia’s heart fluttered with relief. This was the first time she got to hear the verdict of Cassandra’s wound with her own ears. Meanwhile, Cassandra tried her best to take the good news and not have it be ruined by the pain she was feeling in the present moment.

“Thank you,” she said, “for everything you have done, I owe you my life.”

From a few yards away, the chief Healer’s assistants were standing shoulder to shoulder, whispering to each other. Olivia had guessed that they were there to take notes as apprentices, or perhaps to take care of the housecleaning in the room. Their apparent preoccupation with whatever topic they were debating seemed to take priority. They kept at it, until at last the Healer was done preparing the wound and had to stand and grab a new bandage. She glared at them with suspicion.

“What is it?” she asked curtly to them.

They both grew wide-eyed as if caught spilling secrets to one another. The Healer clearly wasn’t satisfied, because she stood her ground and waited. “I have a patient waiting for a fresh bandage. Spit it out.”

Olivia and Cassandra both turned their heads to eye them, Cassandra with a face of fatigued impatience for immaturity, and Olivia with a softer exhaustion in her expression.

“Uh…Ma’am,” one managed to quiver out, “we were wondering if…if the Lady…” her eyes glanced to Olivia.

The Healer turned, followed their gaze and huffed when she got a clue as to their fearfulness.

“You two have no future in this profession if you cower before people you have not met yet. Now, change out your soiled smallclothes, otherwise prepare me a potion for healing and pain relief at once!”

“But she…!” the other let out, before containing her fright. Her chest tensed.

Cassandra groaned. “What is the meaning of this?”

Olivia sighed, rolling her eyes as kept her hold on Cassandra. “They are afraid of me after last night. Do not worry, Ma’am, I can prepare and administer the potions. They can be dismissed if they are uncomfortable here.”

The two assistants looked eager to do so, but too fearful to show it to their superior. The Healer in return grumbled, unrolling the bandage in preparation for application. “Honestly, this is what happens when they send me non-Mages who wish to be Healers without understanding the field. Go, before I decide to punish both of you with some disgusting alternative like cleaning warts,” she growled.

At once, both young apprentices rushed out, heading for the door like bees to flowers. They whispered to each other as they headed out the door, shutting it quickly behind them. They acted as if they had evaded the clutches of a monstrous witch.

Olivia watched them go but did not move her body an inch. They weren’t worth the pining.

Cassandra’s brow furrowed, and she turned her attention to Olivia. “Maker, why would anyone be so afraid of you?” she asked. Back at Skyhold, Olivia was a crowd favorite; children, animals, and adults alike all clamored for her kind affection. There were always those who were suspicious of her – especially former Templars – but their opinions were in the minority. Seeing people scurry out of her presence was strange.

The Healer returned to them, and gently guided Cassandra to hold her arms above her head. Olivia reached and held them up so Cassandra wouldn’t have to rely on her own strength alone. Once again, her face was close to hers, staring dead on into her eyes as she grimaced.

“Your woman caused quite the fanfare last night, my Lady. All of the servants are gossiping about it throughout the estate.” the Healer answered for her whilst Olivia remained bashful.

“Fanfare?” Cassandra groaned a bit at the feeling of pressure from the raveling bandage. “In what capacity?”

“Well, I…” Olivia bit her lip, narrowing her eyes a bit. “I…may have…well, first off, a lot of it is a blur. That is a symptom from the sedative, though.”

“Sedative?” Cassandra’s voice raised in pitch.

“Yes, but, that came after! I promise.”

“Olivia.”

“It was just…” Olivia took a breath. “Alright, Theia may have had to restrain me like a rabid animal while I tried to singlehandedly murder Minerva and her men in retribution. She also…may have had to…well, carry me across the entire Guest Wing whilst I shrieked and screamed profanities and threats.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened a bit. Clearly, then, the crying puddle of emotion Olivia was when she went unconscious did not last long.

“I see.”

“And then there is the fire damage…” the Healer added, snipping at the excess of the bandage.

“Fire damage?!”

Olivia took a breath, closing her eyes with dread as she was outed for not only being an emotional terror, but a magical one. “See…well, you know me. When I get emotional I have to express it in certain ways.”

“You set the Guest Wing on fire?” Cassandra took a breath, feeling the rigidity of the bandage compress her chest and ribs.

“A little. A corner of the room. Vivienne dispelled it as soon as we had a handle on the skirmish.”

Cassandra wanted to ask further about the skirmish, and her lips parted as she was about to do so. But then, she closed her eyes and inhaled. Letting the situation be was more practical than trying to understand every inch of it, especially when it was only the morning after.

“I will ask further questions once I am able to breathe and hold myself up for longer than ten seconds,” she resigned.

Olivia grinned with a sorry expression, slowly guiding her lover’s arms back down to rest at her sides. She held onto her upper arms as the Healer prepared the pillows behind her back. Once it was all ready for her, both her and Olivia lowered Cassandra back to rest all on her own.

“The Inquisitor and Ambassador also send their regards. I reported to them this morning before arriving here. They said to tell you that they will visit this afternoon after you have had time to rest more, and that Ambassador Montilyet has secured a stay here for another night. The Inquisitor will be attending to reports and letters to Skyhold on your behalf.”

Cassandra loosened her body, allowing for the pain to subside. She nodded once, then, feeling settled in. “Thank you. I appreciate the consideration.”

Olivia stayed quiet, and as the Healer tidied up her station and laid out the potions for Olivia to administer herself, she watched Cassandra’s face slowly relax.

“I will take my leave, then, if you do not mind,” the Healer turned and bowed slightly. Olivia turned and smiled.

“Yes, thank you.”

Once the Healer herself had withdrawn from the room, that left the two women alone again, and Olivia was happiest that way. She removed herself from her position on Cassandra’s legs, rising to her feet to tend to the medicine. The Seeker watched her attentively, the images of what she must have looked like while she was screaming and yelling last night sending a shiver down her aching spine. It was hard to imagine Olivia as anything but happy, with warmth in her face that could disarm the sternest of people. Cassandra underestimated just what her possible demise would do to her, but, taking inventory of how it happened in her mind – her pushing Olivia out of the line of fire, just to be struck and fall in her arms? That was hardly an ordeal one could simply walk themselves back from. And, most of all, Cassandra understood what it was like to feel your entire body come undone watching someone you love deeply be slain.

While Olivia had her back to her, she couldn’t help but wonder out loud.

“Did you really have to sedate yourself?” she asked.

Olivia went still for a moment, gazing off into the distance with the glass bottles in her hands. The question brought the heated emotions of the prior night to the forefront again. The sights, sounds, and sensations of her episode flooded her mind’s eye: the strength of Theia’s grip, the running people, the way her vision blurred and went dark as if she were teetering on blackout rage. Things like that for a Mage weren’t benign in their implications.

“Yes. Only slightly. I had Josephine and Theia to care for me. But, initially, I was a danger to both everyone and my own self,” she admitted calmly, pouring and measuring the dosage into a drinking glass. Ready to hand it off, she turned and stood quietly for a moment to gaze back at her.

Cassandra’s face wasn’t what she expected. Instead of judgement or horror, her eyes were soft and sympathetic. It made approaching her easier. Olivia still held her breath, though, as she handed her the glass to her hand opposite the side of her wound.

“Are you upset with me?” she had to ask, too curious and anxious to not.

Cassandra held the glass close to her face. “Why would I?”

“I do not know,” Olivia shifted her weight to one hip and folded her arms with worry. “I was not…I was not the way I wanted to be in a pinch. I should have been calm and focused, and instead I came unraveled like a wounded creature. There is a reason they are all scared of me now. I am surprised Theia threw herself upon me, the way I was going on.”

Cassandra ingested her medicine as Olivia answered, holding the substance on her tongue for a moment before she swallowed it in one heavy gulp. The taste was bitter and sort of pungent to the palate, but it worked well, and that was what mattered. Without a word she handed Olivia back the glass, who in turn took a step and placed it on the nearby nightstand.

“The Inquisitor would never leave you to fall apart,” she replied, resting her hands on her abdomen. “You know that.”

“Yes, I know. I suppose…I suppose I am just scared of who I was, too, like they are. I was not…good. I was angry, so angry. You were gone for all I knew. You died in my arms. I had the one person, the one thing that I had believed in to be above reproach taken from me.”

Cassandra reached her hand, inviting her to come sit at her side. Olivia consented, and took her position at her side, taking hold of her hand. She kept her eyes lowered, her chin declined in shame. When she did this, Cassandra became protectively angry deep down. No one had the right to make Olivia ashamed or like she had to apologize for her organic nature – not even Olivia, herself. The irony was she knew Olivia would never admit to feeling ashamed when others were around, and she could just imagine the way she would be unapologetically herself out in public. But here, she had allowed herself to lament, in front of one of the few people she knew and trusted to now weaponize it against her.

“Since I am not quite strong enough to pull you myself, I must ask you to humor me and come closer,” she replied after a pause.

Olivia raised a brow, sincere flattery on her face as she raised her gaze. She obeyed the request, scooting in and reaching an arm to hold her over Cassandra’s chest, taking care not to lean any pressure on her. She still wore a sensitive pout on her face, even as it showed in her eyes just how softened up she was. When at last she was close enough, Cassandra reached her right hand up to push a bountiful amount of her hair out of her face, tucking the majority of it behind her ear.

“You know what I would say to those who would judge you for how you reacted?” she asked in a lower tone.

Olivia shook her head once, still a bit self-conscious with herself.

Cassandra smirked slightly. “I would say that no one gets to scold my woman for her righteous anger. I would say that it is one of the most powerful parts of her, because when she is angry, she means it. I would say that you are in every way deserving of the right to be furious. Lastly, I would say under absolutely no circumstances will anyone be allowed to make her feel like holding her head one inch lower than she should. Not even over my dead body.”

Olivia’s lips parted as she let out an emotional breath, her eyes that she believed to be dried up began to feel heavy with tears. The acceptance was always surprising to her skeptical heart.

Seeing the way her eyes began to water, Cassandra smiled softly.

“Then you would most likely punch them in the face,” Olivia played, giggling with her slightly brittle voice.

Cassandra chuckled, but only managed to do for a second before the stiffness of her bandage took the wind out of her. She groaned a bit but maintained her lighthearted expression.

“Could you blame me?”

“No. Then again, I would be a hypocrite to do so after you refused to blame me for setting a mansion on fire.”

Cassandra tilted her head a bit. “Olivia, I know who you are, and I know you are capable of a great many things. I also know you have a heart beyond reproach. You need not fear my doubting of your goodness.”

Olivia grinned widely, her eyelids fluttering as she blinked several times. “Surely, you must know it was only because I thought I had lost you forever.”

“Yes – but if I recall correctly, you gave me an order. And if it is anything I cannot dismiss, it is an order from a most authoritative woman.”

Olivia scoffed sweetly, shaking her head. “You chose then to follow my direction? When I say stay behind in Skyhold, safe and sound, you rebel with a vengeance. But when I beg you to remain alive, that is where you swear fealty?”

Cassandra stroked her lover’s cheek with care, laying her head back onto her pillow. “I never claimed to be perfect.”

“Fair enough, but I see that smugness in your eyes, Pentaghast. Cheating death is unhealthy for a person’s vanity, and I should know.” The extent of Cassandra’s ego was truly a marvel, even as she recovered from a near-death experience. Though, Olivia could only admit to herself just how much she adored it. Taking a moment to gaze at her without words, she then leaned in lower, and put her forehead to Cassandra’s gently, closing her eyes as she took a deep breath in. She re-centered herself then, resolving not to spend a second more crying when she had all the reason to be laughing and smiling like a jovial fool. They remained quiet for a moment in this way, stilling the sadness in the air. It was almost too perfect for Olivia to want to ruin it with conversation, even as richly affectionate as they were being. She felt Cassandra tilt her head and lean upwards, pressing her lips to her cheek.

“Not even death, my Love,” Olivia whispered.

Cassandra smirked, letting her lips linger lightly against her skin. “Not even death.”


	9. Cleansed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More than a week after the unfortunate events at the Abernathy Estate, the Inquisitor and all of her accompanying allies return to Skyhold. It is an especially welcome end for Cassandra and Olivia, who find some time to spend with each other to decompress in a more romantic fashion that being on the road could afford. Not everything lasts, though -- and Olivia is asked to act upon the trust she has accrued as an agent of the Inquisition, friend, and lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW for nudity, foreplay, and lightly described sexual activity

Skyhold welcomed back some of its most beloved heroes a little more than a week after the incident at the Abernathy Estate. An expedient traveling pace was encouraged by both the Inquisitor and Seeker Pentaghast, who was recovering very well physically but had been mentally drained by having to stay put in Val Royeaux for her initial recovery. The only solace she had found in being in the throng of Orleisian nausea was having Olivia all to herself, her attentive lover as well as liaison between her and their hosts whenever they wished to poke and prod their guests.

Turns out, loving an Orlesian meant having a built-in filter for your impatient attitude towards their theatrics.

But, all good things had to come to an end. Skyhold welcomed back the Inquisitor and her allies with open arms, and curious looks when Cassandra needed Olivia to spot her as she dismounted from her horse. The stubborn Nevarran would not settle for anything less than her own horse, even if it meant having Olivia had to standby to make sure her weak side did not make her fumble. Carriages were a non-negotiable “no.”

Now that they were “home,” everyone had some time to unwind and settle back in. Leliana was most intrigued in passing, as Cassandra and Olivia made their way back to the Seeker’s bed chambers. She kept her hands gathered behind her waist, at attention but with a sly smile on her lips. Meanwhile, Olivia kept close to the Seeker as they arrived at the top of the second flight of stairs, standing on the round platform overlooking the lower courtyard. Leliana and the Commander had watched from this overlook as they had arrived, but whereas Cullen had swiftly gone back to work, Leliana wished to see for her own eyes the Seeker who she had known to be unwavering and stiff in her ego.

“Seeker, back in one piece, I see.”

Cassandra sighed as she walked tall, robust as she hid the aching wound underneath bandages and light traveling armor. “Yes, Leliana, as always.”

“And Lady Olivia, welcome back to you as well. I have read the reports – how are you feeling?”

Leliana’s care was refreshing to Olivia, but she hadn’t expected anything less. Sister Nightingale was one of the few people she could trust to be understanding and creative with her reactions. “I am well, thank you for asking. I am glad to be back.”

“I am sure the Capitol is as well, lest they face natural disaster. I must say it gave me quite a fiendish giggle to read of the reactions to your behavior.”

“Yes, well, I am sure you are one of perhaps three people who would find such things endearing,” Olivia sighed, a shy grin on her lips.

Leliana smirked, then, and shook her head. She could feel Cassandra’s protective gaze on her as she kept her attention on the Mage who seemed to pack such a catastrophic temper in her relatively petite frame. Of course the Seeker would pick the one woman who held an insurmountable amount of fire in her gut whilst looking like an innocent, beautiful forest nymph.

“I have cleaned up worse messes before. And I have caused a great deal of them, myself, in the face of loss. Rest assured, there will be no reprimanding from my end.”

Olivia’s hand squeezed Cassandra’s as they stood shoulder to shoulder. She glanced her way briefly, her eyes full of slight caution, but relief all the same. “Thank you, Leliana. I hope to still be trusted to carry out my responsibilities and anything else you need of me.”

Leliana held back a laugh. “Of course! Given our beloved Seeker does not try to reinvent her persona in favor of reckless, romantic heroism.”

Cassandra sighed, her jaw grinding a bit. “As much as this conversation enthuses me, we must settle in. I will visit you to take up reports later today, Leliana. Thank you.”

The former hands of the Divine nodded to one another, recognizing a mutual respect even as one could not resist teasing at the other’s expense. Such humor was what kept the routine fresh, and Leliana delighted in witnessing Cassandra be proven imperfectly emotional, and not made of stone. She always knew the truth, though – she was human, and she was genuine. A little sore when it came to the lighter side of things, but all the same, she was worth the affection.

\--

Once items were unpacked or sent off for cleaning or repairs, Olivia was able to surprise her woman with a much-needed luxury they did not get to enjoy together often: a hot bath in the seclusion of her quarters. Up until that point, Olivia had played Healer when it came to Cassandra’s need for washing, especially for her healing wound. Now, it could have a bit more romance than being boarded in an Inn somewhere in the middle of the no where on the way back to Skyhold. The tub was large, one of the biggest Skyhold had on hold. Olivia had asked politely and explicitly for it, and of course after all that had happened, Theia owed her a favor or two.

They took their time – Olivia sitting against the rim with Cassandra playing little spoon this time, sitting tall between her lover’s thighs in the steaming bathwater laced with oils and salts for sore muscles. Olivia was gleeful in being able to care for her the way she always felt in return.

Cassandra was holding her left arm up beside her head, elbow bent outwards, whilst Olivia gently sponged her wounded, recovering skin. The sutures had been removed ahead of schedule – someone with a talent for apothecary mixtures had secured and concocted advanced healing potions whilst she was in her home Capitol – though know one could be sure just who. Perhaps it was the blonde Mage, smiling softly with her waves of hair gathered on either side of her shoulders, covering her chest, taking great care not to apply too much pressure to her woman’s sensitive injury.

“You are healing nicely. How do your muscles feel? Stronger?” she cooed, wringing out the sponge.

Cassandra used her right arm to hold her left up in place, needing the extra support for the lack of congruent strength in her upper body.

“Better. Riding was difficult, but not as much in the end.”

Olivia smirked. “You have no one to blame but yourself for that. Honestly, who is so insulted at the thought of riding in a carriage? Especially with their lover as company.”

“I am a warrior, and warriors do not sit pretty in wooden boxes with wheels whilst danger looms in whatever form it decides to make itself known.”

“Oh, and I was just sitting pretty?”

Cassandra couldn’t help but grin with slight embarrassment at her rhetorical misstep. “No, not at all, I was simply…”

“You were simply, what, mocking feminine reliance on traditional forms of transportation? I could have ridden circles around your lopsided self, Cassandra Pentaghast. Do not play me for a fool.”

Cassandra chuckled, letting her right arm reach down and embrace Olivia’s bare thigh that had been slightly submerged as it clung to her side. Olivia shook her head, not knowing why she allowed such assumptions to go unchecked whilst she and her divine body were laid out for the grabbing and taking. Such ego.

“Wahriours,” Olivia mocked, with her own sterling rendition of a Nevarran accent, “we do nauht sit pritty in wooden buhxes, we prefur to git empayled with swords out in the open!” she held the sponge in the air as if she were wielding a weapon and leading a charge onto a battlefield. “Pritty Mages sit on their hands that just so happin to wield the powur of the Fade itself! Such fools.”

Cassandra’s waning chuckle turned into a soft laughter, which in turn made her side ache. Olivia filled with butterflies every time she was able to accomplish the rarity of making Seeker Pentaghast laugh. It made her remember the first time she ever did, and the way it made her feel on top of the world. The list of people talented enough to do such a thing was short, very short.

In her laughter, Cassandra winced a bit, but not nearly as sharply as she had before. The healing was taking, and she was able to be more expressive in her actions – which, surprisingly, had been missed.

“You do not have to be so sharp with your teeth when you talk,” she advised, “otherwise, you are quite believable.”

“Agh!” Olivia scrunched her nose, finishing up her tending to Cassandra’s wound. “It is better than your Orlesian.”

“Yes, of course it is, because I do not try to better it.”

Olivia patted her on the arm, signaling that it was alright to lower them back down. Cassandra promptly obeyed, and her shoulders softened in their posture as she allowed both arms to rest hooked around Olivia’s bent knees. Making the water ebb and flow around her movement, she shifted upwards further against Olivia’s body but did not fully lay back, not wanting to submerge the wound just yet.

Olivia wrung out the sponge one final time, before reaching and setting it on a nearby stationed end table, where a bottle of ointment, another of oils rested along with a burning bowl of incense. Mages knew how to set a relaxing ambiance, and she capitalized off it. Freeing up her hands, she placed them on the middle of Cassandras back and began gently applying massage pressure along her spine.

“You are quite possibly the luckiest woman alive, landing a Mage who not only knows how to fight, enchant, cook, sing, dance, and do minor Healer’s work, but also stretch and massage exhausted muscles. The Maker smiles upon you, Seeker,” she giggled.

Cassandra felt the warm pressure of Olivia’s careful hands and exhaled deeply. Olivia’s comment, though, made her smile and break her lucid, meditative state.

“No one is more aware of that fact than I am, my Love,” she replied, diverging from the comical jest in their conversation in saying something so genuine. This made Olivia’s heart flutter, and she kept quiet rather than respond with a clever quip. The silence was how Cassandra knew she had disarmed her, if only for the time being.

“Yes, well,” Olivia at last retorted, leaning forward and letting her hands wander underwater, fingers tracing around the sides of Cassandra’s waist, “no one is more deserving.” She breathed her words onto the top of Cassandra’s shoulder blade, letting her lips trace along her dampened skin. After a few seconds she began to leave kisses as she trailed up towards the side of Cassandra’s neck. They were deep, reverent, and generous every time. It made the Seeker forget that her injury ever happened, and without thinking, she found herself leaning back into her.

Closing her eyes and tilting her head back, she relished it. This was one of the first times since before getting injured that she was able to genuinely enjoy intimate physical affection without being self-conscious about a bandage or anticipating pain.

As Olivia’s mouth sunk into the side of her neck, hungry and adoring with its sensation, Cassandra let out a soft moan from her parted lips.

“Tell me I can have you tonight?” she asked, her pride and ego biting the dust quicker than a Despair demon in the line of a fire wall.

Lips and mouth against her skin, Olivia chuckled deeply in her throat, the kind of reaction a woman had when she knew she had her person wrapped around her pretty little finger. She reached her arms around her more, tightening her hold around her abdominal muscles that were bracing and supple underneath her palms.

“Who said you did not have me now?” she cooed richly into her flesh, letting her bared teeth graze.

Cassandra’s crooked grin of victory laced her lips as she tilted her head, eyeing her from her peripheral vision. It was then she saw Olivia’s bright eyes gaze up at her, the look of mischief in them that always drove her crazy. That paired with the feeling of Olivia’s wandering hand down between her thighs had her willing to take arrow fire from five archers if needed. No cost was too high for Olivia’s style of love.

“You know, the best way to learn a language is conversation and recitation,” Cassandra played, her arms gripping tighter on Olivia’s thighs.

Olivia smirked, biting her lip and continuing her advance into her center. “Fair, Seeker. Lesson number one…” she then switched sides and rounded her head so that her mouth was up against the left side of her woman’s neck. She traced her lips down around and gently bit down on Cassandra’s ear, wearing a smile as she did so.

Her hand spoke first, though, because in an instant Cassandra’s body grew rigid against her. She bit back a triumphant chuckle to keep her act up. The Seeker, meanwhile, was inhaling and exhaling with more depth as her lips parted. She let her head fall back and fully rest against Olivia’s shoulder.

“Ne savez-vous pas combien de nuits je rêve de vous m'ouvrir ainsi?” (Do not you know how many nights I dream of you being open to me in this way?)

Olivia’s accent for her own home tongue was near perfect given the circumstances, the resonating result of years of schooling and proper Lady-like behavior. Cassandra’s exposure to Orlesian culture meant she was baseline fluent – enough that her question made her face go warm – but she finer details were easily lost on her.

She grinned, configuring her response in her mind whilst being overwhelmed by the sensation of Olivia’s hand within her. It was most unfair for the sake of learning.

“Est-ce autant que je rêve de vous prononcer mon nom quand vous…” (Is it as much as I dream of you saying my name when you…)

She could not remember the way to say the last few words, and her pause made Olivia’s brow raise. She remained still, even her hand stopping its rhythm, witnessing her woman try to think on the fly. As the silence remained in the air, Olivia pulled her mouth away, and giggled a bit under her breath.

“Seeker, such a poor start,” she teased, “I would think you would be more creative.”

Cassandra sighed, frustrated at both the halt in Olivia’s touch and her lack of linguistic fortitude. “I told you I did not practice at all,” she replied.

“Tsk, tsk,” Olivia shook her head, “now how am I to communicate with you, dearest Love of mine?”

“The way you have been,” Cassandra’s brow furrowed as she reached her hand around and under Olivia’s thigh, reaching up higher and higher into the inner side of it. Olivia felt her nerves quake in anticipation, her body sliding down a bit in concession. Her arms broke from their respective areas, and she took hold of her woman’s traveling hand, halting the advance.

“What you lack in creativity you make up for in ambition,” she chuckled. “There is hope for you yet.”

Cassandra smiled, pushing back against her so as to slide her back up against the rim of the tub. The pain in her side was there, but she was not going to pay it any mind. She was going to have her if it killed her – and it damn near almost did, so she felt extra inclined. She turned around on her right side, facing her as she tucked her legs under her weight. Water rose and swayed rapidly around her sudden movements. Reaching her arms to cup the side of Olivia’s rib cage with one hand, and the other the side of her face, she kissed her without another word.

Olivia met her with a smile, seeing her face her head on reminded her of how much even just a half hour of being at her back made her miss her eyes. Her hands went to either side of Cassandra’s neck, grasping gently as their lips combined. She did not waste time playing coy as her legs closed in, grasping around Cassandra’s hips and waist. Feeling the closeness, Cassandra broke her lips away from hers in order to spend her own time neck-kissing like a fiend, evening the playing field.

Olivia’s hand traveled up into her black hair, gripping slightly with longing as she laid her head back against the tub rim, leaving no inch unreachable. Feeling her breathing on her sensitive skin sent a shiver down her spine, and she rolled her eyes closed.

“Cassandra,” she exhaled.

Hearing her name be invoked, Cassandra stopped herself and sent her lips sliding back up to Olivia’s jawline, then to her chin.

“Like that,” she whispered, watching her face.

Olivia’s eyes slit open, still enraptured in her maneuver. “Like what?”

“The way you say my name, when I kiss your skin.”

Olivia bit her lip and lowered her gaze, her eyes opening fully now. She stroked the unevenly wet hair on the side of Cassandra’s head, her legs still keeping her tightly bound in her hold. Her eyes lovingly took in every inch of her face, their lips no more than mere inches from each other.

“Then, you would say, quand je t'embrasse.”

Cassandra smirked, her lips parting as she glanced down at that masterfully fluent mouth of hers. “I believe it is time to conclude the lesson.”

“Yes, I quite agree.”

\--

A couple of hours passed – quite abundant for free time in the Inquisition – and the women had transferred their lovemaking to bed, allowing the bathwater to grow cold and still in the corner of the room. They didn’t bother with dressing past wrapping up in towels, and even then, their use was miniscule. At the end of the line, they were wrapped up in each other whilst the sunset light honeyed the room through the humble windows, their naked bodies basking in it while they could.

The rested their eyes for a while, Olivia laying beside Cassandra on her uninjured side, positioned on her stomach. One of Cassandra’s arms was wrapped under her, hand resting on her upper waist. The Seeker had laid comfortably on her back, this time not needing to be re-bandaged immediately after bathing. The scarring wound was proving more resilient.

They both breathed blissfully against one another, the quiet tranquility of the atmosphere a much-needed reprieve after so much stress. The only noise came from the low, soft humming Olivia had been in an out of whilst her eyes were closed.

Cassandra, far from disturbed, listened along without complaint.

Then, a disturbance in their universe of idealism: a folded letter slid underneath the door. Whoever it was knew better than to knock and hand-deliver the correspondence. Hearing the hissing of paper against the wood floor, Olivia’s eyes opened and her song halted. After more than a week of being the active body on Cassandra’s behalf, she instinctively sat up and turned to look over her shoulder.

Cassandra, too, opened her eyes and looked with a tilted chin.

Olivia sighed, gathering her legs and sliding them towards the edge of the bed, pulling her to her feet. “Clearly, the tact means it is not one of the Commander’s messengers,” she said aloud, running a hand through her tousled hair.

Cassandra let out a huff of humored air, watching her saunter lazily across the room, her heart stilling at the sight of her bare figure sans clothing. “That leaves only so many options.”

Olivia reached down, picking up the letter and examining it briefly. The paper was well-made and soft, and when she inhaled, she smelled the slight essence of floral perfume. She grinned and turned around to face the bed, holding it in both hands at the corners.

“It is from the Ambassador,” she concluded, her eyes flickering from its wax emblem to Cassandra’s expectant face. “I assume, then, it is also from Theia.”

Cassandra remained quiet as she watched Olivia return to her side of the bed and crawl into a seated position atop her folded legs. Far from intervening, she watched as Olivia took the initiative to open it. Clearly from couple to couple, no correspondence was simply for just one person anymore.

Olivia’s eyes scanned the lines, and in a moment, her contented, straight lips gave way to a gentle frown.

“What is it?” Cassandra pulled herself up a bit, realizing it was better to do so then to lean on her injury.

Olivia sighed, collapsing the letter back into its fold and holding it in her lap. “Minerva.”

The Seeker’s brow furrowed at her response. She had not been fully kept in the loop with regards to the arrested group from the Ball, but Olivia knew. After all, she had almost removed any and all reason to make arrests, the way she desired to slay them on sight after what they did to her lover. The tension in her chest reappeared.

“They want me to receive her and her imbecile of a lover and sit in judgement, since it was an affront to my reputation and place at the Ball. You are invited as well, though, Josephine noted that she understands if you wish to be removed from such fatiguing politics.’

A moment passed between them, wherein Olivia stared down at her lap. Cassandra kept her eyes on her, though, and noticed the mixture of stress and resentment that arose in her body language. Even though what mattered to Olivia most was having her woman be safe, and being back at Skyhold, it felt as though the horrible ordeal was not yet done haunting her.

“What is it you wish to do?” Cassandra asked with care.

“I do not know. I feel as though it would be taboo. I am surprised Theia would make such allowances as Inquisitor.”

“This is not uncommon for her to do. When she feels it out of her depth, or if someone else lost more than she did, she defers to them for their decision.”

Olivia sighed. “That is…that sounds like her,” she closed her eyes and took a breath, tilting her head back as she collected her mind. “You were the one who was harmed. Why not you?”

Cassandra shook her head once. “The arrow was meant for you, Olivia. Your life was the target. You are the reason the woman did what she did.”

“But it was your future that hung in the balance. And they were extorting funds from the Inquisition at large. I do not see how this falls on me fairly.”

“Olivia, just breathe. Come here,” Cassandra reached and took hold of her woman’s hand.

Olivia rolled her head a bit onto one side of her shoulder, stretching her anxious posture, before she crawled closer to her. She then turned and sat back, up against the headboard and resting shoulder-to-shoulder with Cassandra, their hands remaining enjoined.

With her other free hand she tossed the letter onto Cassandra’s lap, and pulled the blanket that had lay underneath them to cover over their legs. She took a breath as she was told to, her knees bending up and hugged close to her chest.

“They remind me of how much I lost control,” she said hushed, leaning over and resting her chin on Cassandra’s shoulder. “I never want to see her face again. I do not know if I can stomach it.”

Cassandra listened to her, eyes on their intertwined fingers. It was not easy for her to imagine Olivia’s position, but she related to the idea of being afraid of one’s own power. While technically she could take control of this Judgment, and sit in her place, she knew that it was Olivia’s decision and not her own. All of this was because Olivia had centered herself in the mission and had a nemesis who decided to act upon her insecurity. Olivia had the right like no one else did, in both being targeted and almost losing her woman, to decide the punishment.

“They would not offer this to you if they did not trust you.”

“Trust is an intemperate thing, Cassandra. I should know.”

“Then you would tell your allies, the same allies who have defended you and your place here, that they are misguided? Will you tell your friend, the Inquisitor, that she does not know you well enough to invest in your good conscience? Or Leliana, who knows people more instinctively than anyone I have ever seen, that she has the wrong apprehension of your character?”

Olivia didn’t respond immediately, opting instead for the question to soak into the air. Cassandra had a point – and she had just promised her on her recovery bed that she would take care to actually trust the appraisal of those around her, and the value they placed on Olivia’s perspective. It was harder in practice than in theory.

She huffed, hugging her knees with her arm. “Do I have to wear something ridiculous?”

Cassandra smirked, before kissing the side of her head. “No, but you must hold yourself like someone worthy of such authority, and that, I know you are capable of.”

Olivia grinned, her worried heart comforted. “Fine, fine. But after that, I am locking myself away in my workspace for a week. I cannot believe my Orlesian nerve has been exhausted.”

Cassandra chuckled. “As long as you take occasional visitors, I will support your choice.”


	10. Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia presides over the judgement of her nemesis, Minerva, and her lover. Cassandra makes her promise to a change of style in the way she usually takes on challenges to her character and fortitude. In the end, Olivia learns that she can be herself and be formidable at the same time -- that both aspects of who she is comes from the same cloth.

The judgement was scheduled for the morning after their return to Skyhold; everyone had an evening to settle into normal routines, if such a thing as “normal” was possible in the Inquisition. When at last the morning rolled around, Olivia did not wake up in her usual conversationally-apt energy. She was quiet, pensive, and methodical about her preparations for the day: laying out her chosen dress on the bed she had come to feel ownership over in Cassandra’s quarters.

As she armored her own body, the Seeker would occasionally glance in her lover’s way, noticing how solemn she seemed to be in disposition. She understood why, but it nonetheless concerned her.

Olivia slipped on her fresh smallclothes, adjusting and tightening strings where it was needed, before grabbing the shoulder fabric of her gown. Without much to it, she slipped it on over her head, pulling it down onto her torso and slipping her arms through the long sleeves. She had chosen a dark grey gown, one of her favorite colors to wear.

She sighed, then, having finished her dressing. All that remained was to put her hair up, and everyone knew just how unceremonious that was for her. As her eyes scanned the room to see where they had tossed her string scarf, Cassandra’s own discerning stare connected with hers.

They stared for a moment, and Olivia’s face softened.

“I am not doing what you think I am doing,” she said preemptively, rubbing her own arm.

Cassandra smirked, adjusting the snug fit of her vest. “I did not say a word about what I am thinking.”

“Yes you did, with that stare of yours.”

“If that is the way communication is actually achieved, I fear people would be culpable for a great many crimes without so much as attesting to a single detail.”

Olivia huffed, as she hurried her way to the corner of the room across the way from where Cassandra stood, reaching and snatching her scarf from the chair that rested there. She anxiously sent her fingers up into her hair, folding and pressing it against her head in preparation to be tied back. Her nose scrunched as she felt the discomfort from knots and tangles. Her eyes looked as if she were generating steam in her skull.

“I am not worrying,” she confirmed, sticking her scarf between her teeth and twisting her hair into a bun shape.

“Would you be able to be blamed if you were?” Cassandra asked pointedly, stepping slowly closer to her, her arms resting behind her back with her hand clasped around her gloved wrist.

“Yes, by someone, I don’t know who. But someone would disagree. I should be calm, after all, getting to exact my vengeance on my nemeses.”

“Olivia, such a responsibility is hardly relaxing.”

“Isn’t it? Theia seems most lighthearted nowadays.”

“I am sure she seems that way in good humor, but she like you laments for her difficult choices as we all must. However, if you do what is right by your own conscience, one that I trust, you will have nothing to be apologetic for.”

Olivia took the scarf from her mouth and entwined it in her hair, managing a simple knot in the back which secured her unruly head of thick waves. Her arms then went down and rested at her hips. She took a breath and looked off to the side.

“I will go with you and watch, but I will not have a hand in the verdict. I do, however, have a solemn request of you,” Cassandra stood in front of her now, facing her head on.

Olivia’s eyes narrowed with harmless skepticism. “And that would be…?”

At her question, Cassandra sighed with a grin, and touched her lover’s face with her hand. She held her cheek against her palm, thumb stroking the faint freckles under her eye.

“That when you perform this duty, you do it as yourself, and not the façade the Court has drummed into your heart from your earliest days of life.”

Olivia paused, not reacting at first. She took in the brevity of the request for all that it was; it sounded simple, but for a courtesan of the Imperial Court, it was asking her to disarm herself before walking into a skirmish of words and consequences. It was her security blanket when all else failed. She had not really contemplated what “mask” she would put on for this, but the fact that it would probably show up anyway without her voluntarily opting for it was telling enough. Cassandra’s request was based in love, but it was also a challenge, a nudge out of her comfort zone.

But, it was one the Seeker believed she deserved: to be seen, and respected, for the clout she had for simply being herself.

Olivia at last responded, closing her eyes as she inhaled some bravery into her chest for safe-keeping.

“I will try, although I hardly understand what that looks like after all these years.”

“No need to trouble yourself searching,” Cassandra said as she leaned in and kissed her forehead, “she is right here, staring at me.”

\--

Everyone – meaning Josephine, Theia, Cassandra, Leliana, and Vivienne – assembled in the Great Hall surrounding the throne’s general area within an hour after Olivia had risen to face the day. They all stood at attention, watching as the troops guiding the woman known as Minerva Lucina, and her lover Lord Vincent from the front doors down the walkway. Around the room, various anomalous faces turned and looked on – some nobles, others perhaps staff that had been given some free time to watch the days’ Judgement hearings.

When they came close enough for the sacks over their heads to soon be taken off, Cassandra stepped up towards the throne, electing to stand in front of it with her hands behind her back rather than sit. There was no sign of Olivia, but that was not because she simply did not show up.

So, when Minerva and Vincent were finally allowed to see the light of day again, Minerva’s nervousness and temper was dissatisfied. Though, seeing the victim of her mercenary’s arrow, rescued from the brink of death and standing tall in front of them, she found her frustration distracted by fear.

Meanwhile, her lover coughed as he was full exposed to the mountain air. Evidently, the side effects of Olivia’s force-fed elixir had not completely worn off.

“Seeker Pentaghast,” the Ambassador took a couple steps forward, writing board and feather quill in hand like she always was for these affairs, “summoned here are Lady Minerva Lucina of Orlais, and her lover and most unclever patron and business partner Lord Vincent. They have been charged with, among many listed here, attempted assassination of an Inquisition ally, extortion of funds for improper and corrupt collusion, and dealing information to the enemies of the Inquisition when under contracted agreement to privacy.”

From across the space between them, Minerva could be heard sighing with distaste. Cassandra did not break her stare, taking them both in for who they were. This was her first chance to be acquainted with them after all, besides being taken hostage of course.

“It should be noted,” the Ambassador added, “their filings and dealings have been investigated. The allegations of extortion and corruption have been proven true, as I predicted. There remains, then, the charge of assassination.”

The Inquisitor came forward but only to stand side-by-side with the Ambassador, her arms folded as she took her place on the sidelines for once. Her movement got the attention of Lord Vincent who, sniffling to himself, began to quiver again.

“W-why are you not overseeing this judgement?” he asked aloud, calling out the situation as if he had been kept out of the loop on an inside joke.

Theia smirked, her eyes narrowing as she peered back at him, feeling nothing but indignancy for his plight. “Judgement is not a absolute power, my Lord. And thank goodness it is not, because your lover has displayed quite a poor talent for it.”

Cassandra regained their attention. “No need to concern yourself, this hearing will be aptly presided over by someone who does have the authority to pass judgement for what you have done.”

Minerva sneered, her jaw clearly clenched with resentment. “I suppose that’s you, then?”

Cassandra merely smirked and shook her head. Before she could be asked, or provide a verbal answer, someone from behind the two defendants interjected. For, standing several yards back toward the middle of the hall, the one for whom the Judgement lay waiting stood with her arms folded softly at her chest. Dressed in the same grey dress she had chosen to wear that morning, her hair in a bun but slightly messier than it had been when she first put it up, she stood like a commoner and not a decorated Soiree goddess. Lord Vincent’s Andraste had long since retired into the void, and truly perhaps never existed.

“Hello, Minerva,” she called out with a kind, but commanding voice.

All eyes of the Inquisition’s assemblage of allies turned to look back at her. As Olivia made her approach, she could see Minerva hunch with dread but elect not to turn around to face the woman she had been spurned by for a year.

Then, as she came around, Olivia became visible to her. Her quaint appearance surprised Minerva, who in turn widened her eyes.

“You look quite forgettable when you are not adorned in someone else’s finery,” she growled a bit. Bold, for someone in custody, who’s hands were chained behind her back as she awaited punishment for her prolific criminality.

Olivia merely smirked, sincerity on her face as if she had just saw someone trip and make a fool of themselves. She continued to walk, approaching the throne where Cassandra stood. At first, she stood shoulder to shoulder with her, and for a moment the two women looked like a most unorthodox pair of monarchs surveying business.

“You still have that fighting spirit, even as you have lost the war,” Olivia said aloud, her chin held high as she stood alongside her lover. “Predictably, though, you have overlooked the details of your mistake. You see,” Olivia unfolded her arms, revealing that the undermost one was holding a long arrow. Not just any arrow, but the one that Cassandra had been shot with. The half with the pointed arrowhead was blackened with dried blood, but it had been cleaned otherwise. Olivia held it horizontally in front of her chest as she finished her sentence. “this pretty little arrow was meant for my neck, was it not?”

Minerva then spit on the stone floor. “Of course it was, you snipe. You deserved it for what you put Vincent through.”

Olivia and Cassandra then glanced at each other. In Olivia’s eyes, her reassuring nature gave Cassandra the go ahead to step aside. She would have continued to stand at her side as long as she needed the confidence, but now, the game was on and she had her gloves proverbially off. She could handle this, or at least, she would have to.

Cassandra grinned at her for a brief second, nodding to her and then stepping off down the shallow steps. She took her place on the other side of Ambassador Montilyet, standing tall to watch her woman handle the business at hand. At her leave, Olivia side-stepped to stand in the center of the platform, directly in front of the throne.

“Vincent is alive and well, Minerva. It was you that first took my ally hostage to get to me. I would not have laid a hand on him if you did not make the first move.”

“I evened the playing field against your lewd games. Now I know you were manipulating him to get to our private affairs like a common thief and spy!”

“A thief? Taking back what belongs to one’s own purse is not robbery, Minerva.”

“We did our business as the law protects us to do so!” Lord Vincent sniveled, finally becoming an active party in his own criminal hearing.

At that assertion, the Ambassador promptly interjected. “Alas, Lord Vincent, the law of the Empire bars you from colluding with the Imperium under the most updated versions of trade and mercantile law, which were edits made many months ago and distributed amongst all commercial businesses in Orlais.”

Theia, the Inquisitor herself, added an addendum: “And, your contracts with us were reviewed and drafted to make explicitly clear that you were to not deal with any of our adversaries whilst associated with the Inquisition.”

Olivia returned her eyes to Minerva and Vincent as they went quiet. Minerva’s icey stare in her direction, however, spoke where her mouth did not. She had resented her existence since the first night she had ever flirted with Vincent, regardless of the purpose. Even Olivia was slightly confused by her vitriol; had she been like this with all the women who caught his eye before? If so, it must have been a most exhausting relationship to sustain.

“The law is not on your side, then, I am afraid,” Olivia remarked.

“Then what, Olivia? Are you to send us to the hangman’s noose for supporting ourselves? It would make you most hypocritical for all the things you have done to put food in your own mouth.”

Olivia took a breath, letting her hands fall to her sides. Her grip tightened on the arrow’s wood, her thumb pressing into the tip of the arrowhead.

“Minerva, your disdain for me will be your downfall.”

“It has already proven so, evidently. So, what is it to be, trout?” Minerva hissed. From her stance in front of the throne seat, Olivia could see the dirt and dust that had colored Minerva’s complexion whilst she had been kept in the prison cells. She looked tired and in need of a good bath, and Vincent almost looked light blue in his skin tone from having been sickly from the elixir. He would recover with some more time, she was not concerned for that.

“For whatever reason, you and I have had to cross paths for our machinations,” Olivia stared her down, “and I am not one to pass up an opportunity for justice after it shows itself a second time. So, in the audience of my dear friends here, I will say you are guilty of attempted assassination of an Inquisition agent.”

Minerva and Vincent both squirmed in their own ways, Vincent of course proving more cowardly in his body language. Minerva, even when proved guilty, looked unabashedly on at the woman who she would probably still want to strike down if given the chance to make up for the mistake.

“Fine. It will be solace to me as I rot in a cell or on a spike…” Minerva muttered, facing the floor.

“What on Earth are you referring to, now, Minerva?” Olivia tilted her head.

At her question, Minerva chuckled a must unnerving tone, glancing up at her with steel-blue eyes that looked as though they could cut through the toughest slab of stone. “That you, my dear, are all smoke and mirrors. That your attraction and manipulation are parlor tricks, and you on your own are anything but unforgettable. Look at you, standing there on a fool’s authority, dressed like a common kitchen servant. You are nothing. You are a doll dressed up and laid out to play. You will be a mere footnote, if anything, in the stories they write about this era. The only thing anyone could see in you as a lover and not a whore is the heat your body provides. How anyone would sacrifice themselves for you is a wonder to me. Soon they will all see the truth of who you are and what you are worth. I will sleep well, picturing your fall into obscurity even as you flaunt yourself like some pined-for Goddess. Well, Lady Olivia, the only Goddess I see here is the one in that gaudy stained-glass window past your head!”

Olivia could feel her chest go hollow. Minerva had clearly had time to stew on this, and had taken full advantage. Her heart fluttered with the visceral insecurity she felt; she wanted her mask, she wanted the script. Minerva needed to be put in her place, and for so long, Olivia had relied upon her Orlesian heritage to weather the storm of unsavory opinions of others. She lingered in silence for a moment, allowing for Minerva’s insults to permeate in the air. Everyone looked on, observing the tense silence.

Theia watched Olivia’s eyes glaze a bit, and it worried her. She wondered if she had, in the process of bestowing a chance at justice, put her friend deeper into the pit of despair by asking this of her.

Then, Olivia glanced back at Cassandra, the person who had made her promise not to adorn herself with a confident artifice. As there eyes locked, she saw Cassandra’s protective expression remain determined to keep her to that promise. She believed in her, and not just when it was romantic to do so. Then, she remembered the way it felt to watch her slip into unconsciousness in her arms – the fury and the focus she felt, like a weapon and a human body all at once ready to destroy everything around her.

When Cassandra grinned, silently encouraging her, Olivia was reminded of all she stood to lose because of Minerva’s disorganized hatred. All that she was risking – the goodness, the love, and the companionship that she did not gain by being the façade of the Orlesian courtesan. No, this, this was all by virtue of who she was. Cassandra never chased the superficial – she sought the truth.

The truth of Olivia was that she was worth finding, and worth keeping, and worth dying for.

Olivia took another breath, grinning back at her discreetly before she refocused herself on Minerva. When she did, her face reformed itself into one of solemn confidence. There was no fanfare or theatrics: only the sobering reality.

“Minerva,” Olivia said in a deep, confident voice: “One day, people like you will say such things and I will not be hurt in the least bit. One day, I will be somewhere far from this place, with a life and love I have built from the aftermath of my suffering. One day, I will accomplish that which was believed impossible. One day, I will believe when my lover tells me I am worth sacrifice. I will tell stories about the way people like you tried to take more than I was willing to give in exchange for survival, and it will not pain me to recollect just all the horrible things I experienced. And you, you will be Maker-knows-where, being the same spiteful and small-minded imbecile you always have been. But, your words and your deeds will be just like the poison on this arrow,”

Olivia then held up the arrow in front of her, the tip facing towards the ceiling, “cheap, unoriginal, and ineffective.”

At that, Olivia took hold of either end of the arrow and snapped it in half. The brisk crack of it attesting to the poor design and craftsmanship. Coupling the ends together, she stepped down from her pedestal and made her way to Lord Vincent, who was still too traumatized by her anger at the Estate to talk back to her. Olivia smirked as she reached and grasped his jaw, opening his mouth and shoving the sticks in between his teeth. He quivered and whimpered but did not fight back. As he bit down on them, she patted him on the cheek like a pathetic dog.

Stepping back, she glanced one last time to Minerva who looked to have tears of rage brimming in her eyes.

“And if you were wondering, the answer is yes, I can still most definitely make him burst into smithereens.” She then dusted her hands off, and walked off towards the Ambassador, Seeker, and Inquisitor, who all stood at attention with pride and relief in their faces. None more than Cassandra, of course, who felt vindicated in her request for Olivia to show who she truly was and embrace it as her power.

“I sentence Lady Minerva and her lover to exile, somewhere where they are too out of reach for their…commerce, to be viable. Lord Vincent’s wealth may be acquisitioned for the sake of the Inquisition until it is believed that his debts have been paid back. In any case, they are not to return to Orlais until it is deemed appropriate by the offices of the Empress herself,” Olivia respectfully decreed.

Josephine grinned, nodding and writing some notes on her paper. “Very well, Lady Olivia.”

Olivia then respectfully bowed due to the principle of the thing. “If it is alright with you, I will return to my post.”

“Yes, you may,” Theia responded now, a smile brimming on her lips. “I appreciate you making the time for this ordeal.”

“It was no issue, my friend. I do like playing pretend,” Olivia smiled and winked, before seeing herself off. Her last action was to exchange a confident glance in Cassandra’s direction, and she winked, before turning away and departing.

As she left, all the allies present watched her in varying degrees of amazement and affection – both in high amounts. Leliana, especially, as she stealthily arrived at Cassandra’s side. Both women looked on as the convicted criminals were escorted back to the cells to await dispatch.

“You know, Cassandra, if you fail to keep her, I know that his Majesty the King of Fereldan is still unmarried, and he has a softness for kind, though unnerving women.”

Cassandra raised a brow and eyed her from her periphery. “Over my dead body, Leliana.”

“Are you certain, given how that was almost achieved rather easily?”

“Yes, did it sound as though I hesitated?”

Leliana smirked. “I was simply making sure. In any case, I do not think I need to tell you that you should not even humor the idea of letting this one go.”

From the other side of her, the Inquisitor leaned in towards Cassandra’s shoulder, joining in on the discrete conversation. “I agree with that statement whole-heartedly.”

Cassandra groaned, rolling her shoulders in discomfort with the way her private affairs were being teased and scrutinized. “Can either of you find some other matter to concern yourselves with?!”

At her temper, both Leliana and Theia bit back laughter. Leliana then turned and made her way around to stand beside the Inquisitor as they both apted to depart from her company. Enough was enough…for one day.

“For whatever Olivia sees in you, Seeker,” Theia teased one last time, “it surely is not a sterling sense of humor.”

As they withdrew, Cassandra remained standing there as she watched the Hall dissolve into more casual goings-on. Though, in her mind, she was replaying the image of Olivia standing tall over those who would see her fall. The way her kindness and softness did not retreat in the face of hostility but become emboldened. Olivia deserved recognition for her goodness just as much as she did her ability to manipulate situations for her own gain. They were not opposite sides, they were all apart of her one image, and it was beautiful.

Hoping that now the ordeal was finally put to rest, Cassandra believed that if anything could be gained from it, it was that Olivia now had evidence to her true strength. And it would be a marvel to see from here on out.


End file.
